Fire Island

By air, by land and by sea, everything burns. In the wild west, the spontaneous combustion of dryness and heat : like a long line of celluloid, entire forests flare up in black and orange streaks. Across the globe, a war relic finds its tomb in the depths of the ocean, its internal fire unquelched by Arctic ice. Closer to what I now call home (my cat, my books, a haphazard collection of shells and seeds) a plane turns into a firebird within seconds of taking off. One hundred and thirteen people learn what it is to be a missile heading towards a violent crash. As for me, I stand on a barren island where dust covers roads, dogs and trees ; places called « Amnesia » and « Privilege » blaze at my feet. What is this fire that burns inside and out, what this remote planet scorching among its endless seas ?