It’s dry in the tropics
Joe was sitting in a chair on the porch of the building that was turning into a termite mound. I was photographing the eggs as the sun beat down on them. I thought I was making an optimistic photograph. Velvet textured grey, round and chalky looking eggs were shriveling up, shrinking into smaller balls connected to other balls that would have shorter and longer rotations in the universe.
I’ve only grown the balls that dangle on strings. Seeing them on the ultrasound machine I think about people growing embryos. I cannot put the balls back, only balance them and hope for the best. Little particles floating in space swimming around larger particles floating in space bumping into even larger particles floating in space, we are all particles floating in space. We are space and space is a floating circular ball.
Everything is happening in a circular rotation. Everything is a circle and happens within a circle, nothing is exempt from the circular ball. There is nothing outside the circle but other circles. The circle can be nothing but a circle. It can feel and look a lot like a hole, but it is full, it is never empty. Even when it seems empty it isn’t because we are all in it. Some circles will disappear while shooting across the sky.
A vague notion exists about who has what. Some of the wrong things are in the wrong places and that adds to the scarcity that increases with time. Some of us see the eggs drying up and some of us don’t care to look and some of us try really hard to see very little but ourselves. Some of us want to be alive while others wish they were dead. Some don’t have any wishes. Some stand in the pond and splash water on the eggs trying to make up for the missing rain in the man made pond that is next to and in nature. We remember some kinds of repenting rotations but not others.
The universe is a circle and the circle is everything.