Would you do it, Marcus, put a message in a bottle and throw it into the sea, hoping it will turn up decades later half way across the world? Connecting you to a bemused stranger, across time and space?
The digital ocean is full of bottles, so cavalierly tossed in, it’s hard to imagine anyone’s going to be picking one up off its shores, anytime soon.
Is that what we leave behind then, messages no one will read, clues no one will ever decipher.
How does it matter if you are alive again, just for a moment, for a complete stranger, to whom your pathos might sound as alien as your words. How does it matter if he tosses the bottle back into the water, unopened?
Strange that we are so sure of death, but never sure how we must let go and die.
Not if we keep inventing ways to live forever.
trembling in the cold wind
the sleepless rose
curses the sun