Where westerly winds cross the farthest ocean, warm shallows rise. Grades of soft sand swell along gentle coastlines.

The Island, of thought object memory, and hallucination myth, slowly sinks, descending incrementally backward through time. From an unknown point of far future cataclysm of parallel windows and parallel minds. Intersecting seismic vibrations grind within tectonic seams in reality. Unnoticeable.

It doesn’t seem so strange if you make it to shore. Balmy, beautiful, and covered in tropical succulence. Blissful Amnesia. The transference of perfect summers past with a golden end each day. Of found love and fleeting satisfaction, while ever so slightly fading. Hopeful, peaceful and whole. Memory.

The inhabitants bring residues of far-flung humanity. Ships, winds, and teleportations. Layers of technology integrate from diverse timelines without much notice, despite the corrosion of salt sea air. Artificial contributions to The Island’s porous ecosystem. Equanimity through entropy.

The Islanders reside along the sunny coasts and in the inland valleys off hostile volcanic ridges and peaks. Houses, huts, and condos or old lava stone structures. It’s peaceful and plentiful where diligence brings ease. Liquid time tricks backward leaving details slowly illusionary and insignificant. Everything is forgetful besides emotion. The moment’s phenomenon.