Greatest Hits 24x30

24x30 Resin coated glitter/ acrylic/ ready to hang. 

“In November, a 13-mile-long alien spacecraft is going to get to Earth. They initially thought it was an asteroid. Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’m way more afraid of this planet staying the way it currently is and being stuck here than I am of dying. Whatever simulation the government is making up to take a shot at a new world order is delayed, and I’m not falling for it.”

“I think you need to take TikTok off your phone for a while.” He says. Even in the pitch black, I can hear the smile in his voice. So I laugh too. 

“Am I becoming the crazy lady that bases my entire world view on bits of information that are only put out with the intention of reactive engagement?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But you didn’t not say it.” 

Outside, I sit quietly under the night sky. Well. Quietly is a stretch. On Saturdays, our neighbors have an outdoor karaoke party with a dozen friends. After a few hours, Purple Rain and Lady in Red gel into mariachi, and at the end of the night, Michael Jackson's greatest hits. It’s kind of comforting knowing that people on the planet still gather with other people for fun on the weekends. But I do miss the eerie silence of the pandemic. It was the only time I heard fog horns every night in San Diego, so the military ships could warn the two dozen cruise ships that docked for nine months that they were passing through. 

I actually have no idea what will happen in the future. Or what I’m doing, or what I am most of the time. But when I look up at the sky, I know it stays with me, because I can then, in turn, paint what it looks like to feel so vast and unlimited, but at the same time tethered to this body. That’s how I know what I am. 

Change is constant. More will always be revealed, and in the end, at least we keep the greatest hits.