Triptych


Lonny's Tower

Babbling screens hypnotize loved ones, molding them into stone. Brick after brick, home after home. The New Old World is cementing us on top of each other: together, all alone. Conspiracy theories make the philanthropist shake his head. Hand out cake while taking bread.

Lucy's Number

No sound is as harsh as silence, crushing from the inside out. Voice to skull technology, explaining what you're all about. Reddish weather modification, it's raining little white flags. Heavy metal in a pale white sky; a blue beam will light up, and we'll all wonder why.

The Martians

The travelers say we must prepare for doom. Only the best can go with them. For you, there's no room. But you'll pay for their failure. A thousand hours of asking why. Philanthropists become robots and let the rest of us casually die.