from “Xenomorphine, The Bonesetter’s Revenge, Book2”
These days, we train with sand sprints, forcing us to push harder even though we have half the momentum. Ever faster, winded, weathered, and wasted by the race we call human. Beneath the flesh, our organic mechanics are the same, varied by chaotic genetic evolution, in a spin cycle that will never stop, never slow down, unless external forces rise to face us. We are in constant motion and mutation, the virus and the carrier one and the same.
Perhaps we are the virus evolved, through natural selection and rapid recombination, given voice and bestial hunger. Feeding faster, on life and information and each other, sister and brother divided to opposite sides for access to the trough.
A man dove from space, broke the sound barrier and survived, a free falling star that fleetly fell with man-made wings. Faster, from towering heights. Fighting fiercely to evolve beyond our dermal boundaries, to explore the outer shores of this present reality, the irises of the virus always scanning and adapting and learning how to design survival.
With every advancement, a new map of physical reality, the boundaries stretched like an overactive bladder.
Our realm is the petri dish where we observe and consume. We devised a dynamic economy built on consumption, evolving endlessly and requiring more resources with every speedy second. Inflation pushes us further from center, from the simple core to the edges of the expanding universe. This is unstoppable, this driver asleep at the wheel from a diabetic coma, with no options other than chaotic collision in the dark, distant, lonely nowhere.
That which defines us each as unique aliens to this space is the same timeline that every star faces: a dwarven reduction and a husk of a future, consciousness transplanted creatively from one celestial body to another, the virus and the carrier one and the same, advancing at the speed of blight.
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