Sleeping like a nomad at night in the international space station, they said you hit the ground headfirst if you don’t start by aiming at the low hanging fruit before flying out to Mars.

With memories fragmented across the universe, past times are still well versed in all our worlds, alas the singularity may only exist once every puzzle piece has truly fit into the bigger picture and we have sealed the gap of interpreting depictions, for they are fractures, unintended designated points of failure.

Babel was never there and our tongue prints are as disconnected from our dialects as our finger prints never match our handwritten signatures, faces not analogous to our pictures, generic descriptors that can be changed through casual wear, a different look, but harbouring the same outlook and chemical insides, insidiously changing in short lived timeframes in marble microworlds on the guts of the macro-turf we think we stand in. Newspapers don’t keep you warm inside.