I age in solitude. No matter. I have machines to rejuvenate me whenever I get too old and my body reverts back to being exactly as I was when I was young. They cure all ailments. They keep me in absolute luxury. I could go out, see the universe they are rapidly conquering in my name. No people. We never found other people, just planets. Things to harvest, to keep me going. Me. Humanity, all that’s left of it. I can write, make art, wile away the days, but what’s the point? There’s no one to share it with. So I age. Become young. Age again. Over and over. The machines chew up the universe to make it easier to digest. Feeding me like a baby bird.
Paddy Dobson
14th May 2024