Big Bang Bazookas (chapter 1)
“Eurydice” started out as a high-end concept for a music video back in 2016. The concept proved to be too ambitious to realize. The music video became its own expression and celebration - watch it here, while the idea expanded into an outline for a feature film I hoped to direct. That was a time when my tunnel vision saw the world in moving images alone.
Still, the story of Eurydice listened, whispered and cooed in my ear for the past five years. Perhaps it will become a film in the decades to come. Perhaps. Time will tell. Free from the budgetary constraints of film production, this fall I’ve embarked on the journey of giving “Eurydice” a voice.
I’m elated to make you an offering in words, symbols and conjured up images. Chapter 1 follows bellow!
As always, I’m thankful to my mother and editor, Nelly Dareva, for being with me every step of the process. As always, I’m grateful for your presence here.
I found the following photo of my sister after the news of seeding. The initials B.D. were scribbled on the envelope. Most likely the initials of the photographer. I will never know. My sister must have been fifteen or sixteen in this photo.
Big Bang Bazookas
You and I are pendulums splitting the marrow of the universe. We know exactly where to strike, or so we think. We are bound to the hands of Time, you and I. We are not alive. We are not dead. Nor are we shadows or flesh. We are the waves that break on the decks of ships, the waves that break at the feet of fishermen. We are not numbers. We are not letters. We are the spacebar of a keyboard. We were once seeds sewn into the earth to nourish the Gods and each other. We were once soldiers ordered to kill or be killed. We were once human. We were once humane. We were once humble. We were once in love. And Love was in us.
The advertisement read in unassuming letters: Become a seed! And one day, after work, Eurydice did just that. She became a seed. They buried her deep underground in a time capsule. Who will open the capsule? she asked. No one, they replied. Eurydice had read the pamphlet but like other seeds-to-be she paid little attention to the details. The pod is bio-compostable. It will disintegrate fully in the year 22304422205463p19e-7707015-te3r3. Eurydice patiently listened to a woman naming the numbers and letters, and dashes from memory. She didn’t have any idea such a year was projected to exist. Eurydice had contemplated committing suicide but was far too busy to get around to it. Besides, she was already overcommitted. That morning, instead of driving off the bridge, she had pulled into the parking lot of building 8. They sealed her a day later and she died in peace before she was fully buried.
Building 8 was demolished a quarter of a century later when the prophet GW predicted the Earth will not last beyond the year 22304422205463p. As a result, the stock of the Seed Corporation, compounded by a controversy over proper business practices, plummeted. Grieving families demanded restitution and retribution. Because of privacy laws world governments had no record of how many before or after Eurydice had been coaxed into becoming seeds.
The prophet Orpheus blew himself up and took half of Europe with him. A programmer dropped dead in his home office. By some unimaginable breakthrough percentage of chance, the thumbs of the programmer remained stuck on the spacebar of his keyboard. When his body was found by a chimney cleaner, the code, designed to fix minor bugs in real time, had created so many empty spaces that the World Wide Web went Big Bang Bazookas.
The world ended at 22304422205463 just before the p.
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Just as with my last serialized publication, my sister and I keep getting together for our weekly sketching sessions. The process allows me to zone out and tune in to the themes of the world being created.