Draw a circle in the sand with a stick. You are here. And the sand -- what is that? Small stones and rocks, different particle structures, you have to admit: you have no real idea. And the sky? What's up there?

Honest honestly I tried to hang onto myself as long as I could. There were tides and I felt as if I might get swept away sometimes. The island I swam toward was not fixed; it did not have roots; it was not an idea; it moved in the water with me as I moved towards it. Whenever I got a lock on it something would happen. Driven off by sea spiders. Strange currents. Who is that woman? Sometimes the island flickered in and our of existence before my eyes, I felt like I was going crazy.

"It's a million dollar idea," she said, which made me happy and right then I knew I was fucked. Unless I made a serious change. The country is ready. Everyone wants to lift off the patch and see what's wrong with the eye. It's a little perverse, but then that's good: calling all Klansmen, all faggots, little Hitlers & hipsters and aliens near and far. Let's get this show on the road. Right there on the TV is a window and I want to go to sleep to the sounds of real racism, no subtext anymore we are tired of it. If someone believes the black folks (yes I mean folks) should drown let them say so. I am tired of reading the signs.

The crop circles, properly decoded, point to a global change in consciousness circa 2012, whatever that means. "Decoded." Is it your finger or the moon that's in your eye? I am waiting for the rebirth of something. The lovers on the Grecian urn will not catch each other. The urn is gone and the universe still carries radio waves broadcasting its existence out to numberless infinity. Past the stars. Honestly had I reached the island, what then? Because I lied, I did. I drew a circle in the sand with a stick. I built a sand castle over my father's body and prayed he wouldn't wake up soon. That hurt much later, but it was necessary and I have decoded that as beautiful. And the sand, and the sky, and the structure of things? Were they really there at all?

You are here. And now you're not.

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