Isaac Marion

Sex, once a law as undisputed as gravity, has been disproved. The equation is erased, the blackboard broken

I__ alone, stumbling through the city in the dark, trying not to let the night freeze my blood.

So if existence was just binary, dead or alive, here or not here, what would be the fucking point in anything? My mom used to say that's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory--hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.

Well we have to. We have to remember everything. If we don__, by the time we grow up it__l be gone forever.

My mom used to say that__ why we have memory. And the opposite of memory__ope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.

You should always be taking pictures, if not with a camera then with your mind. Memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.

Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he'll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I'll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we'll stand around and groan for a while. It's hard to say what 'friends' are any more, but that might be close.

...thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?

We will cry and bleed and lust and love, and we will cure death. We will be the cure. Because we want it.

Even as I think them, the words lose their context, dissolve into grains of absurdity in the vast ocean of day-to-day hunger.

I wish I could read what she's written there. Instead, I pretend the letters are stars. The words, constellations.

I try to think of things to say but nothing comes, and if something did come I probably couldn't say it. This is my great obstacle, the biggest of all the boulders littering my path. In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, it all collapses.

That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory_ hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.

I mean obviously, staying alive is pretty fucking important_._._._but there__ got to be something beyond that, right?

You won__ starve, R. In my short life I made so many choices just because I thought they were required, but my dad was right: there__ no rule book for the world. It__ in our heads, our collective human hive-mind. If there are rules, we__e the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

To be or not to be, that is the question: to go on living, fighting against this sea of troubles, or to die and end everything? Why be afraid of death? To die is to sleep, no more. Perhaps to dream? Yes, that's the problem: in that sleep of death, what dreams will come?

What is left of us? _ No countries, no cultures, no wars but still no peace. What__ at our core, then? What__ still squirming in our bones when everything else is stripped?

I don't know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess it's not so important. Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.