I live on the line with my roomies. Nippers, a cat and an elephant with no name, Charlie the ladybug, Well B. And Richard, Mister Duyvis, and Nicol.
We kissed goodbye the remains of Gaia, to wander the never ending ocean of space and time. We do not matter. We are not here. We exist in assembled algorithms, vectors and voxels. The exploding plastic inevitable. We are created by the last artist. The mothers and fathers blowing in the wind.
The oil beneath the struggling sands striked as being a force of balance to the structure of the shell of the big blue marble. Drinking it all at once caused the disintegration of the entire planet.
Fossil stories whisper on terrestrial origins. Our carbon based mothers and fathers, working all day and all days. Just to keep a big oil orgy going. Gigaliters of oil and gas. Drinking everyday in huge amounts. Driving cars and eating meat. Killing the flowers and the birds. Even the butterflies did not return.

Advanced to mindless zombies. Acting as though things being not so bad. But the result was, that not only biological life all died. No, no. Much worse.
The world, in fact the entire planet, vanished from the multiverse.
I cant stop visualizing the lost megacosm. To me its important for our children to know how the parents lived. I often think it must have been so beautiful. The plants, the trees, The rivers, the seas. The crepuscular light.

Paint





Landing on the red line







the story of the beginning

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