Octavia Butler's Manifesto.

— John Berger, from ‘How to Resist a State of Forgetfulness’, Confabulations

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Am I as old as I am? Maybe not. Time is a mystery that can tip us upside down. Yesterday I was seven in the woods, a bandage covering my blind eye, in a bedroll Mother made me so I could sleep out in the woods far from people. A garter snake glided by without noticing me. A chickadee landed on my bare toe, so light she wasn’t believable. The night had been long and the treetops thick with a trillion stars. Who was I, half-blind on the forest floor who was I at age seven? Sixty-eight years later I can still inhabit that boy’s body without thinking of the time between. It is the burden of life to be many ages without seeing the end of time.

“what day is it?” asked pooh. “it’s today,” squeaked piglet. “my favourite day,” said pooh.

“The Hand” (1982) by Mario Irarrázabal ☀ A giant’s last gasp or first hello at the Atlantic’s edge.

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

2006

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