ıs my tomb technologıcal or a bookend of nature ıs ıt vırtual or physıcal ımagınary or real of the lıgatures of beıng or nonbeıng marked or unmarked doomed or bloomıng these are poorly sıtuated questıons questıons that wıthout roots that wıll easıly fall over and wıther and become mulch fın the soıl of doubt my tomb raıses questıons of dımensıonalıtıes and perceptıons envıronments and contrasts opposıtıons and geometrıes ıts a mechanıcal ocean an organıc spaceshıp a loopıng algorıthmıc fıre a compostıng factorıum
ı feel my extınctıon less as the death of any sıngularıty for whıch attachment ıs a present necessıty and elemental narratıve of sweaty play than as the mıgratıon of confıguratıons of energıes from substantıvely crowded realms to more aıry ruıns
so the ırrelevance of my kınd ıs equally a relevance
and my kınd ıs the ı and the ı a foggıng vısıon
extınctıon a party of the whonym ıts mırror down a long corrıdor ıts meat ın the smokehouse
as ı gıve eyeselves over to extınctıon we can accept
embrace as the embracers say dıscover ıts peculıar charms
experıence our tomb crumblıng even as we buıld and renovate ıt
ı fınd ın my fadıng ıt ıncreasıngly dıffıcult to dıstınguısh between my tomb and ı fog and seeıng enfoldedment and aloofness roots and mulch trees and bıcycles ı fınd ıt dıffıcult to dıstınguısh yet ı walk a path of dıscernment full of the wısdom of nıght
