Goda,

Some months ago I had the most amazing dream. The world was crumbling, large pieces of land were being pulled down into the abyss, clouds fell down like cheese and exploded hitting the ground. A kind of epic scenography, one that could be expected from the Ibrahimian religions. You could feel the body of a terrestrial world in locomotion, without the surge of friends*, or information, or lost saiga antelopes… But somehow in the dream no one had fear. People were calm and curious, feeling embedded, just being there. Comfort with the radical state of entropy? Or a sense of radical acceptance of global restructuring? It struck me as I was recently reading about the burning of books in 213 BC, and thinking, what does it mean to read the fire of books? How to read the affects of a perishing moment that are experienced across the imaginary fields? How to sleepwalk at the edge of the world imagined centuries ago by other people?

Yours,
Sina