what is it? does it mean anything? might I be cleaopatra’s needle, a scion in the great egyptian desert, a sign from a supposed great age, reduced to a marker in a park here, surrounded by the accouterments of this age, from pharoahs to skateboards, all seen under a carved eye glyphs, and then some should I survive some more, but then what, just another rock, left to grind down into sand and dirt and dust, pushed to the shores and depths, as all things are, with time, as pangea breaks her shores defined…

and legacy, careening through the stars, that golden disc, how chuck berry will live on, a creation with less computing power than my phone, by far, and farthest now, although we equate nearly the same age, hurtling through space, except I am tethered, by fate, I suppose my particles one day, might, make that same journey past the heliosphere into interstellar space, not recognized as the same face, yes, that is correct, but some molecule, some morsel, some small part of this whole, this identity, this blink of life on the miracle blue marble, all we know, maybe some recognition, a thought, a glimpse, a reflection in the tiniest of dna, a strand that reaches all the way back… to me… a legacy into the stars…

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