The future is not an ending. The world ends again, and again, and again. Flusser predicted that because of the technical image and the internet, the world is suspended in a single ever-present moment: always just about to end or just having ended. Maybe what I think is that future-making and building solidarity is about perfecting the ritual of grief.

Decomposition is a kind of grief. Fungi excrete enzymes from their cells to break down complex compounds in the world around them and absorb the nutrients once they have taken a simpler form. I write to make sense of the things that happen around me. We all degrade our memories a little bit each time we recall them. To grieve with our bodies, our brains, we must decompose the things we want to hold onto the tightest.

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