I’ve been circulating thoughts of chaos around my brain until it began to fall apart, wrinkle by wrinkle; lair of snakes unwinding; slippery slime of earthworms escaping the rain – a wet stench. Gray matter inside and out; a nuclear twitch. I became a theory of existence, cinmerian, not quite all there. Nearly transparent, not quite all me; an embodiment of the rampant insanity of mankind. I will take that for you, I say, hold it so that you might thrive. And I think, if I drown will you all float? So I hoard your wild abandon and drive myself into the ground, a hole, I get in touch with roots – my roots, your roots, our roots, tied roots, loose ends – and ride the seismic waves. Emanation, we are connection of little waves passing in and out and through of disposable yet immortal atoms; we are all immortal in a small sense, the smallest sense, the atomic sense. Recycled; nothing about us is original except the conception of our composition. What are you made of, kid? Which parts did you gather to make up a you; random chance of intermolecular bondage. Where did the kinks in your structure come from? Are your genes dominant or recessive, baby?  Can I play with them? All of your deoxyribonucleic acids wash my fingertips with sticky – you are substance; I bathe. You are composed of so many little bits, a symphony; I want to take apart your building blocks and build a hall for myself; soak in the vibrations of your creation; get lost in the galaxy of your circulating molecules. And in the end we’ll be all that together, a gravitational amalgamation of everything, and we will birth primordial anew; I will be a part of me and I will be a part of you and I will live in lightbulbs and illuminate a generation of electrojunkies by the faded glow of computer screens. I will not mourn my physicality so much as my abstinence. For to be alive is to be known, and now you know me.


– Jaime Dyna La Mondain

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