I learned the other night that my husband never took a selfie before he took one for me. (There was a time, early on, we were stuck across oceans.) I have thoughts: this is rather romantic? Also, it makes sense, of him. It makes me feel special, but also like I brought on a world of weird shadows, and am I to blame? It occurs to me that taking a selfie could be like losing a kind of virginity. Too many people (children, now) do it without thinking what is lost, what they are giving away.
Again, the word as propaganda, this time: selfie. No, my dear. That is not your self. These are not “selves” that appear in the “meta”, organized by “intelligence”.
I thought somebody might take a picture of “AI” and caption it “bubble”. Then I started thinking of all the things in the world getting bigger, higher stakes, and waiting to pop. A world of bubbles, a bubble world.
E. suggested we could take pictures of the volcano bubbling magma. Oh yes, I said, I didn’t realize we could do that. There are ropes keeping you far enough away, they used to wear gas masks to get that close.
Because the mountain might decide to burp, I said. A little bubble, and you would be dead.
This is why we have mantras to say before we go to the mountain, he reminds me, for example, hong ulun basuki langgeng. (Salam dari Tengger.) He wishes to make that one famous.
H.’s wife gave birth to a healthy baby last night. I woke up to that news, and the tears in my eyes, and the rain persisting from overnight. A new baby is also a mantra.
(Important to note that the community of the dead shares its place with a community of trees.)