gnome house falulu. 

 Synchronizing Uncertainty, by Brian House.

 Jodar! I exclaim to Olive, and she looks up like Jodar must be a bug on the ceiling. The next time i say Jodar! she barely cracks an eye. Ah, she knows me well, it's been almost two years.

 Olive blesses our piece of petrified wood, I think. Olive blesses everything in the house.

 We got this piece of petrified wood from mom's house. I don't think mom stole it from The Petrified Forest National Park, but honestly, I don't know. Anyway, even if it was from within an inch of the periphery of The Petrified Forest National Park it doesn't matter, it's still stolen, yet it feels good, and not a curse. Mom had it for decades and had pretty good luck, by my reckoning. Some stones come here from outer space. Maybe someday somebody'll put the petrified wood on my grave, if i have one.

books are disappearing, 

being disappeared, 

into artificial intelligence, 

where does it go, where it goes we go,

we're still here, incompleted,

we have yet to fully disappear,

ghost politicians

and data centers appearing everywhere, 

flock cameras watching us, eyes scanning 

the horizon, our thoughts, thoughts beyond thought,

clouds beyond clouds receding

above the cloud factories

into chemical rain, returning 

endlessly, 

burning our eyes, 

acid green,

nuclear waste is still buried, 

who thinks of it,

under mountains seething

we're still here, we say, colonized,

if no longer colonizing, disappearing 

in the forsaken country, where

the future is cryptic, and we are cashed, and 

olive sings a song of centipede.