©SKETCHES BY MAKO: 7

7

Whether it’s forever or not, each day that passes you get closer and closer to the end.

How do you want to live your life?

How do you want to fill your day?

Can you keep chapters?

Yesterday was my birthday.

It is becoming difficult to understand age beyond its construct.

The linearity of time is an illusion.

We are simply points in a scatterplot

Or constellations

The difference between organic and synthetic is age, because by sheer nature the organic is finite.

Finite nominally but infinite structurally, systematically.

An Apple Rots But A Tree Evolves.

I am finding it difficult to differentiate myself.

I am finding it difficult to differentiate myself.

Am I Apple or Tree?

Perhaps both, curse Aristotle, who

Cried in Gestalt!

Perhaps my whole is mathematically equivalent to the sum of my parts.

If matter cannot be created or destroyed within a closed system, are we not

Simply recycled atoms from leaves, lemon tek

Poured over candlelit dinners

Sangria from Sudanese stelliums

“I love you” my Mother said, in broken tongue

“I love you” my Father said, verbiage assault wrapped in bloody bandages

“I love you” my Brother said, over allergic reaction and laughing gas

Deliverance of severed packages

Regardless if it’s forever or not, for each day that passes, you get closer and closer to the end

How do you want to live your life?

How do you want to fill your day?

Where do you feel safe?

Where can you explore?

Commit to these missions, Rover

Curiosity!

I have been having the same dreams, repeatedly, lately

In that dream, I am more than my parts

I am skin, I am flesh, I am bone

I am carcinogen

I am curator

I am creator

I have words that escape my wet tongue in damp O’s and Ah’s

I can still store data, knowledge, but in images and faded memories found in shipping containers and cargo ships

I can breathe, my gills pulsate through thickened water, like

Fighter jets piercing the sky in a single file line

Criss cross applesauce, dinosaur figurines made from crude oil

Your fingers through my hair, my chest pounding against yours and you whisper to me

“You always had a hand at this”

In that dream,

I can feel love

I can feel touch

I can feel taste

Strawberries, Napalm, Licorice

“You always had a hand at this”

My grandmother would say to me,

Shrimp dumplings coated in canola oil,

Before her last croak—

Regardless if it’s forever or not, each day that passes, you get closer and closer to the end

How do you want to live your life?

How do you want to fill your day?