The end is alive. Not I. I try. I close my eyes, the end is alive. I know and I try. I try to keep something behind. Is this what we are? Infinite. An infinite arc of image and sound repeating (repeating) our grandfather's art. Curating, but never to take part. Is this what we are? Oxygen! Gravity! I close my eyes and see a world that hasn't heard a single word. Is this what we are?