Beacons

A Wild Joy

Ominous cloudscapes, mountain roads, music to rip your heart out.

Snow flurries warp past the windshield, motion-blur, a starfield simulation.

I’m triangulating off gross landscape features, echo-locating.

Assigning local meaning, at this manifestation of scale.

And you might make a thing holy. Index everything to a single colour frame –

To that obscurest of sorrows, the moment of tangency:

It’s seconds, minutes, decades away.

I didn’t blink, and I missed it anyway.

If a tree falls in the forest, it’s an arbitrary event.

Life’s hard-forks are just waypoints, too.

Successive phases of madness. It’s a single story.

No what-ifs, no parallels. And for a season, for no reason – a universe occurs.

Grains of its self-awareness circle the local star.

Eleven hundred miles a minute, artefacts everywhere, and I’m still hoping for an everything’s gonna be fine attack.

If it helps, this was never about you.

If it helps, consider the user…

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Always nice to rummage in a mountain farm blanket bog with the magnificent Tryfan in view

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