The photograph is in my hand. It is the photograph of a man and a woman. They are at an amusement park, in 1959. […] I’m tired of looking at the photograph now. I open my fingers. It falls to the sand at my feet. I am going to look at the stars. They are so far away, and their light takes so long to reach us… All we ever see of stars are their old photographs. […] It’s October, 1985. I’m basking in the two-million-year-old light of Andromeda. I can see the supernova that Ernst Hartwig discovered in 1885, a century ago. It scintillates, a wink intended for the Trilobites, all long dead. Supernovas are where gold forms; the only place. All gold comes from supernovas.
Tears on the mausoleum floor
Blood stains the Colosseum doors
Lies on the lips of a priest
Thanksgiving disguised as a feast
Sometimes I just wish I could make them all see how arbitrary their lives really are…
But to do so would be unethical.
I owe them nothing.
“Jon.” He watched the doctor warily. “I haven’t seen you since what happened in Antarctica. What brings you back to Earth?”
“I wanted to see how the world progressed without me.”
“And? What do you think?”
“Circumstances have changed, however, the nature of people is the same as it’s always been. Quite disappointing, really.”
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