top of page

Cup 4



What if the consciousness of things remains even after we have taken them in our hands and made them to our use?


What if the consciousness of the rocky ore remains in the steel, the car, forever remembering stillness, the dense slow breath?


What if the memory of that last brilliant moment when the asteroid struck is instilled in every drop of oil in every internal combustion engine?


What if we could feel the grief of torn plastic bags and takeout wrappers strewn in the weedy strip between concrete and asphalt, the grief of the strip mine?

bottom of page