When Does It Stop?
All the music I never heard is out there in the internet cloud, and in the minds of millenials I never met––more music, more strangers every day, squeezing me into irrelevance.
So many books I’ll never know are published every week. I like to read about some of them, see them mentioned in reviews before they retreat into the cloud, countless.
It was not always so: In ancestral tribes we lived in groups of 50-200, mostly related. All stories were memorized, songs and dances repeated at harvest time. Everyone was important: best runner, funniest, meanest…
There simply hasn’t been enough time, enough eons of evolution for my brain to cope with such personal insignificance.
Dark summer sky:
I keep counting the stars
as fast as I can