The world unfolding is the mirror image of Mind shattered into 7.6 billion jagged shards.
Its massive vibration a cacophony of voices woven into an incomprehensible din of Spanish alto, English soprano, Arabic bass and Mandarin tenor.
In an effort to adjust, I tune the radio dial a half click shy of the dim signal floating up from Juarez and try to discern familiar phrases breaking through the static.
Peace brokers, marriage counselors and therapists make their livings from idle chatter. Everyone pays up because no one wants to be the first to admit they don’t understand.
Valida ella tus necesidades? Has estado escuchando voces? Compra ahora!
We fear the potential of our own creations —
¿Se harán cargo las computadoras?
— as our old inventions swallow us whole.
Money and romance / borders and pride / gods and demons / corporations and titles / warfare and friend requests keep us distracted ’til death. Game over.
Can a mind grasp the experience of nothing? Blackness and silence are experiential notions. Nothing is nothing. We’ve all been there before though there’s nothing to recall.
Cuando JFK estaba vivo, ni siquiera existía en potentia…
How can we fear non-existence? We fear only our own stories that call this universal fate into question. Fear of futility inspires manufactured meaning but it’s a cannibalistic commodity.
Ese compa ya esta muerto, nomas no le han avisado
A spectral voice projects vague urgency through the white noise so I reply from behind my wall of voodoo: “No comprende, it’s a riddle.”
*Gracias to Stan Ridgway and Los Cuates de Sinaloa