on future geologies

Take the planet Earth; using a sharpened blade, cut down the center with a firm pressure.

Run your finger along the inside— what story does it tell?

Once upon a Time, there was stone...

And Once upon a Once upon a Time, there was light... and there was heat...

Take that story, and knead it through your warm hands, back and forth... Until a trillion things are born and die inside of it.

As you knead, industries grow on top. Industries that scoop back into the story like a spoon, ladling the story that is stone was once light and turning it into a deconstructed pile of syntax, rubbing out the lexicon of rocks, of crystals, of oils, life, melting down the chapter book of planetary history to create a crude vocabulary of things which can be assembled easily on stockroom shelves.

Thousands of stones that were once light and heat fill your home: this spoon, this bulb, this double decker panini press. Some became computers.

These appliances you hold in your hand — they have no interest in storytelling. They are new grammars, existing in isolation; chemically bizarre.

Once upon a time, there was a barcode.

How will it all read, in ten thousand years? When all is piled into an appendix of things we don't understand, with no beginning and no end—waiting to turn into fire?