so far the year seems it will end on a quiet note. we did not die. some of us are more battered, but that will leave the next year to feel better in comparison. or will it? there is a sense of danger out there, a reminder that this world of ours can catch a cold, and we are the body it affects. our travels have been restricted, we are told to wear mask and stay away from our loved ones. the storms have been fiercer, the cities more crowded, pressure builds. but it goes on.

life is what happens at the intersection of what you wanted and what the world had in store for you. nothing is exactly as planned, you end up closer to the star but not quite at it. the world is no different. given the circumstances the recent events did not kills us but was simply a catalyst for the dystopian adventure that we were awaiting. mad max meets tomorrowland, a symphony of the modern mistakes of our past and a promise to repeat something close to our bygone failures in the future. our life will take us into it, there is no getting off and who would want to miss this train wreck anyways. according the chinese calendar, a twelve year cycle has begun.

only the foolish pretend they can see into the future. our ability to peer around the corner should be solved by some algorithm, mans fate should be as predictable as a football score. empirical evidence minced with charts and the farmers almanac should be enough to call for rain or shine. although as one learns, the favor of rain or love of sun is as fickle as the rest of the equation, it really depends on the valley or mountain you are standing on. for myself, i am playing in the mud, on my back searching for the rainbows.

words collected, birds collected. all fleeting.