now we are in a time of death of species and

inflatable stars arrive at pebble beach. if i ventured to catch a star i could swim and suck helium breaths and speak like an ancient baby over the storm-cloudy water and whatever i might say would be funny sounds and the general drift toward senselessness would stifle my lungs again.
mister is not eating breakfast and moving very slowly. i have to check myself from despair recalling he has been this way before and worse. we know it could be worse because it was worse and inevitably will be. we hang like webs in space supported by thermal winds. this is a time we must do something we're here and we have to keep living this time of planetary demise. this is our time. we will not take inflatable stars as a sign of a party or astral influence or captive breath but of humans failing massively whose failure is the size of earth hurtling on axis into oblivion. now you can't think of a time when it wasn't this way for this way takes all the memory you save and burns and flushes it and stars fade in a pollution of light and baffling as memory floats away.