Where does the future go to die?

The future is an unwritten country. I think that's what Timmy Flux said on the Deadpan Channel last night.

Me, I've got a ton of unfinished business to trifle with and a collection of papers to rifle through which claim to be my diary. Like they say, if you can even remember there was a Tranquil Generation you are almost certainly confused. Even way back then, in the Endless Summer of Tomorrow.

So where does the future go to die? And how come there are people in my diary who I've never even met, at least that's what they tell me.

I write this from my cell in Amnesia Towers, where the guards are very kind, on the third Tuesday of each month. There's a shadow on my window, and an echo of a daydream on the radio; Tom Thugg and the Violets sing a golfing melody like they always did, even way back then. When?

If a tree falls in a barbershop and there's no-one there to plant it, does it really rain on the moon? And just what is the sound of one hand scratching, and why do stars suddenly disappear, every time you walk by?

Donny Moonshot, April 2016