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Image for post

It is strange to be part of a generation where the living memory includes the ability to create and take away the entirety of a planet at a whim — that the act of immersive exploration subsumes itself to the act of terraforming, that we create the walk along a tree-lined row with birds in the trees on the way to the museum before we walk along a tree-lined row with birds in the trees on the way to the museum. And so on. And so the tray slides along the rack of the cafeteria. And so the creatures of Galadrel — green and as high as my knee — stand around the pancake they’ve taken to collectively lift it up into the air — “Oh”-ing and “Ah”-ing the capacity of its lift as if it were a rainbow parachute game for children with no one seeming to run beneath, all this a preparatory gesture before — still standing, each looking the other in the eye — they eat.

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Previously: Space.

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