#138 Sunbeams Are For Wearing

by Danielle D.M. Gembala

Sunbeams are for wearing, here beyond the Singularity. Giant sails unfurl each morning to gather the solar roving for miniature grass automata to spin into raiment that will disintegrate within the revolution of one day, give or take a nanosecond.

We live in castles made of summer wind and mortared by morning dew. Each floats upon a cloud of vapor spewed from the guts of giant clockwork koi swimming in the sea of our shared consciousness, here beyond the Singularity.

Moonbeams are fractured into shimmery slurry, poured into crucibles of crystal, and fired in the heart of a nova to create blocks for our children to stack and knock down like the tiny demigods that they are, here beyond the Singularity.

Starlight is for eating, here beyond the Singularity. It is absorbed by the withered husks of the tiny automata as they shut their eyes and lay down in the dark to die. When the new generation wakes before the sunrise, they gather the starlight-smothered corpses and place them lovingly in composters. The dead ferment into the sparkling drug we sip upon as we fly beyond the limits of our physical bodies, here beyond the Singularity.