I am earthsick. It is true. Earth’s revolving and rotating
give me nausea. Earth’s shifting, shuffling crust runs
me into walls. The subtext everywhere? Gravity will vary.
It is not just geo-cosmology making
me ill. Postmodern life is a constant earthstorm battering my
senses. The weight of human history pins me sideways. Like a
carnival ride, I lurch with every whirl and every wobble, but
the men who set all this in motion pay no attention to a lone
woman damaged by their obsessively recorded, well lit chaos.
So yes, I am earthsick right now, right
here, even inside my small sanctuary. Even hidden away on my
tiny patch of Earth, I am sabotaged by specifics and queasy
from uncertainties, and I dare not venture out to find out how
If I finally give in to this
bilious illness, I will apparently be hurling from my soul.