H o w i e   G o o d

 

Disaster Piece Theatre

 

At the edge of the sunset, I do what crows can’t do, imagine worst-case scenarios, the redwoods and cedars gathering dust in the shadows. And then the camera follows the migratory patterns of now-extinct birds, passing young Asian women wearing surgical masks, a rusty swing set like the one where the toddler learned about sex, pile after pile of burning corpses, the kind of intense heat associated with complaints that it’s hot under the hangman’s black hood. Mixing this and this together makes purple, a shape in the darkness, convincingly real and strangely artificial, the legacy of that winter when spring came late.​​​​​