Fukushima

The name of death and destruction. The unexistable material that we bring into this world will do what it does: disrupt. I can’t stop thinking about the hundreds of tonnes of radioactive water now in the pacific ocean, and the people and organic life who die and who died and who will die. Death death death.

Death isn’t inherently bad, it’s a natural part of existence. What about corruption, though? The corruption of reality is the introduction of… Irreality? We corrupt reality by smashing atoms together. And the result is, after a long chain of cause and effect…

Fukushima.

A death toll for the planet; prepare yourself for decades of aftermath and affect.

There’s no one I can talk to about this. It’s almost too cruel to unburden my mind onto anyone who is just going about their
lives, happy. I’ve got radioactive sludge in my soul.

I am just atoms arranged this way. We only exist because of the particular composition of the atoms in the gasses in the nebula in our patch of the grid. Or, whatever.

We only see because the photons from the fusion machine light years away bounce off the atoms in front of me, into my eyeballs where my brain decides how to interpret and explain that data to me. Or, whatever.

Atoms are mostly empty space; when I touch something, I feel a smooth surface, but the edges are more like a watercolour wash than a defined boundary, between the material of my hand and the material it touches.

Not only that, but the air itself participates in this wash-like boundary experience, the massive piece that fits between and within everything. There is empty space within our bodies. Within our atoms.

Is this nihilistic? It’s so hard to care about small talk and niceties when this is what’s filling my head. I just have to choose to believe that I will be happy again one day, and that everything will be okay.

Fukushima.

Good morning.

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~ by A. L. Park on June 24, 2014.

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