That makes calamity calamity. Between heaven and the knives. The indifferent children, disappointed they do not know disappointed. They do not know disappointment. They are the disappointed. If I had it all to do over again, where would I even start. I would beg to start as stillborn. Throw the slop in a hole in the ground. Bury it. Through our voracious appetite for physics, we know that if we travel fast enough (like the speed of light), we can extend an arm toward the future. But the gravitas of the past is another animal. Most physicists will tell you that they get how the physics of how the future works. But going back into the past would be far, far more difficult. Perhaps I could kill them before they meet. In high school. If I could hack the past, there would be at least a few characters who would be poisoned by spiders. I could construct a living, breathing future by murdering assholes who never existed. Heaven and the knives. Cultural appropriation is how one culture becomes increasingly aware of the other cultures who surround the one we live in. The new story becomes the old story because stories are what exist juxtaposed against the disembowelment of the present, and the disentanglement of what the past has cost and who will pay for it. That makes some of us nervous because there was no money for food last week. I am disappointed by the past, and I am disembodied by a future that only has room for spare parts of stories and are not the stories themselves because stories are clever and they will survive to survive again. A tweak here and there. We’re off to the races. The story knows.