“There’s blood between us, love, my love.”

Who is Cassandra? For a dime she will tell you that the swimming pool is full of blood. Like spacetime, she is nonlinear, non narrative and the most beautiful of Priam’s daughters according to Homer who says that when she stood up to prophesy she shone like a lamp in a bomb shelter. Your eye is inclined to bounce off then glue itself onto Cassandra’s surface. The longer you look at her the more fiercely you have to struggle to see her light which seems to sink its beam into you at hotter and hotter frequency. Eventually you notice that something stinks. It is the gelatin go your own eyeball. A smell at once small and gigantic, some people found it sexual, I did not. To me it is the smell of matter experiencing its own future. Scientifically, the smell of a rip in spacetime.