Noah Travis Phillips’s more optimistic, queer, and contemporary “cover” of Pamela Zoline’s feminist collage sci-fi classic “The Heat Death of the Universe.”

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This article is part of our Radical Futures series, a continuation of the ideas explored in  Southwest Contemporary Vol. 10.

The Life-Warmth of the Universe¹

 

1. EPISTEMOLOGY: That branch of metaphysics which concerns itself with the problem of what we (humans) can know.

2. It is a bright blue morning, turquoise and teal, with clouds splashed in the northern distance. The Earth spirals and helixes with the Sun (like vine round tree).

Oceans rise, insects pollinate flowers, plants photosynthesize, islands form and dissolve, hair grows long, bird murmurations swell, seeds are dispersed.

3. They² continually note the asymmetry of their face, and wonder about their other blemishes (scars, moles, birthmarks, other unidentifiables). Their skin is nearly dappled with freckles, darker and more defined in the intense summer sun. Their own pelage, a personal dispersion pattern. Disruptive pattern and cryptic coloration makes us show less in the wilderness; home is barely visible from here, nor any of the other structures. They blend out in gradients, subtler transitions. The domes themselves are skinned in a patchwork of panels, multicolor, that echo their surroundings, dusty yellows, greens, tans, and quilted like the landscape.

Their kin and friends have many names for them; they have lived in this high desert mountain region for their entire life, and they know the flowers that bloom (Columbine, Blanket, Fire, Paintbrush, Penstemon) in varying elevations. They were always a good walker, and carrier, so they are frequently and playfully volunteered as a beast of burden, which keeps them strong and embodied.

4. SUNRISE BREAKFAST ON THE RIVER MESA IS FULL OF FRUIT. BIRDSONGS ECHO THROUGHOUT THE CANYON.

The fruit is gathered some distance away, and must be harvested, packed, and carried carefully. One can’t travel too fast on foot (two or four) without bruising delicate fruit. If not packed thoughtfully it will crush itself, or else become overheated en route, though we try to travel in the dawn and dusk hours; dawn bird chorus is their favorite. When we return and begin to indulge, everyone starts one at a time.

5. Raw nature is a beautiful thing. The flowers and fruits, insects and trees, mountains and meadows, are beautiful things. They interconnect in a dense web, actively oscillating together, as the ecology resettles into a gentler relationship with so-called humanity, and attempts to adapt as best they can, as are we all. Shrines are constructed throughout the landscape: simple, provisional, and intended to highlight a natural moment for others to reflect on/with. They have made and do regular upkeep on a shrine near a pass as they circumambulate a kindred mountain. They collect all the feathers they happen upon and attach them to a very tall tree stump. When abundant it dances in the wind, and the feathers frequently fly away when the wind is strong enough. The slowly disintegrating tree has faces where branches have fallen. They are: kindly, serious, vengeful, dramatic, vulgar. More than one person claims that a face resembles their own. Many birds visit the tree and many plants already sprout from its carcass. At its base is a collection of animal masks. Like the tree’s many faces they have personalities of their own: mischievous, tender, wrathful, euphoric, contemplative.

6. A pair of flickers flies by, flashing their bright orange underwings. They’re not sure if this warning is about them or for them, and if they should be on the lookout for something. There is shining ripe fruit on the tree they traverse. There is a gray slope of scree (fanning cone of static) in the middle distance in the direction the birds departed, weathered and broken from a larger rock body as it continually ascends. Trees at the edge are pushed outward, sometimes until nearly horizontal.

7. The slowly expanding spatial intensity of the scree is a favorite ecotone – the environment determines our inner-space, which likewise reflects what it is located within, and so on and on to infinite recursion.

8. Stone, stick, feather, seed. There is an abundance. It must be gathered in a timely way; we are answerable to the seasons. Staying in step with natural cycles, so that generosity is gleaned and appreciated, and none wasted. It is a special excitement, particular to all children of the Earth.

As they gather into their carrier bag,³ sometimes by the handful, or gently pinched in nimble fingers, they imagine in their mind’s eye that the stones they collect are mountains, the sticks are trees, the feathers birds and beasts, and the seeds are beating hearts. When gathering, we often wonder how much is enough, the answer is inevitably, “A little bit more than whatever you’ve got.”⁴ Their work is caring-for and defending the place where they live. Bioremediation takes a lot of time and a lot of work, but mostly they have to let it happen. But one can help it along, so we do. We do so by relating to others in an egalitarian group, a liberated environment, and with great compassion.⁵

9. They are a vivacious and intelligent spouse and parent, child of the warm, bright heart of the Colorado Plateau, and proud of their unique family, which keeps them engaged, challenged (one might call it a growth opportunity), and supported.

10. CELEBRATION.

This week is a special and important celebration of all the other beings we inhabit this landscape with. There will be parties and rituals and festivity of different kinds throughout the week.

11. CLEANING UP THE HOUSE. ONE. To prepare for the celebration, and the arrival of others, they want to clean the kitchen; others join to help. (Together) they put the bowls, plates, pint glasses, quart jars, spoons, knives, and forks into the sink. They scrub at the resinous yellow on the igneous granite countertop (from a nearby quarry) with a cloth off-white from use. There are handprints of various sizes, printed with sugars and soil across the table’s surface; it reminds them of Cueva de las Manos. The prints catch the lateral sunlight, appearing and disappearing as they circumnavigate the mesa of the table. Sweeping is next, and the matter collected always reminds them of duḥkha, and includes much hair, sand, gravel, dust, a butterfly wing, and some glitter, among other unknowns.

12. We can recognize the customs, achievements, and other manifestations of intelligence in other creatures (whether four-footed, or green-faced, or even furrier than us) as their culture. And we make efforts to communicate with them, though our words don’t (usually) work the way we might want. Their own culture had to become more flexible, open, and accommodating for this to occur over generations. Ecologies have been and are being remediated—healed—with topographies and inhabitants returning, renewing, and rejuvenating. The land is by turns Cunt Pink and Meadow Green, Blood and/or Rust Red, Raccoon Fur Brown, erotic in its verdance, nearly monstrous in its complexities, which they come to appreciate. And this attitude is embracing and transforming the entire globe, Gaia, Gaia!

13. INSERT ONE. ON LIFE-WARMTH.

LIFE-WARMTH: Unquantifiable, and difficult to give clear expression to its results, though that isn’t even the goal. In the realm of thermodynamics it encapsulates the remarkable ability of living systems to harness, organize, store, and sustain energy, creating structure (if highly complex) and resilience in the midst of the sublime Universe. Life-warmth highlights tenacity and adaptability. Living systems are dynamic; they evolve and adapt to their environments and constituents, finding new ways to thrive and cultivate synergy even in ever-changing conditions. Life-warmth can be seen as the radical counterforce that continually pushes against the flow of entropy, creating pockets of life, complexity, and beauty in a universe that some still consider chaotic. Life-warmth represents the creative and organizing forces that drive living systems towards growth, coherence, and sustained functionality, and includes cellular repair, genetic coding, and the formation of complex structures from simpler components. The total life-warmth of our Universe oscillates, tending toward the good,⁶ corresponding to an entanglement of the things and beings (with)in it (assuming that it may be regarded as an isolated system).

See Life-Warmth of the Universe.

14. CLEANING UP THE HOUSE. TWO. Washing everyone’s clothes. They make notes to themself all over the house: a labyrinthine feral script, dense with arrows, drawings, diagrams, sketches; like blocks or bricks of graffiti, layered two or three deep at times, on every available vertical surface. It is memory and it is reminder and it is reinforcement or reiteration, some of the notes invoke or evoke. On a wall of the garden, on handmade paper in ink made of oak, they have written: “… this dynamic order is vividly illustrated in the nitrogen cycle, where intricate biological processes transform nitrogen into vital compounds, sustaining plant growth and by extension all life…”. Trailing at both ends, like a comet. More domestic graffiti depicts mazes and sigils, and spanning the oven/stove and sink was a kind of banner reading “Help, Help, Help.” Which is what they most wish to do.

[…]

41. They recall the end of the world by fire.⁷

42. They recall the end of the world by flood.⁸

43. They recall the end of the world by war.⁹

44. They sometimes dream of a great shared culture, lineage through time. What can one do to justify their passage through this world? Or, more possibly, to effect, even in the most subtle way, some enlarged mentality,¹⁰ the culture of the world? They try to dream good dreams, and to dream in a good way—manifesting—dreams others might agree with, appreciate, or share. Sometimes the dreams are beasts or kaiju, roaring symphonies like the weather. Or verdant healing, as has been seen across the globe. Summers boil still, microplastics perpetually persist. Though there is some idea that recently evolved and developed plastic-eating bacteria are compromising historical artifacts and archeological sites. The problems are still giant in scope. History cannot be canceled despite its absurdity. In berry-ink or with vine charcoal from last night’s blaze we write our hopes on turtles’ shells and set them free, into the forest, in a dense hedge, where it is most difficult.

45. They smile like Mona Lisa. And wonder how that old song goes…

“Mona Lisa must’ve had the highway blues…”¹¹ and what a blues it was.

46. THE WEEK OF ALL BEINGS.¹²

Many people, dressed as animals, sit around the long table. They are invigorated and piqued by games and hiking; some are flushed and perspiring, others ruddy and smiling. This general excitement, and the celebratory animal costumes they wear combine to make them appear a feasting menagerie through the looking-glass. It is time for desserts. There are an array of sweets, simple decadence, many arranged into elaborate displays, others simply presented, carried in. Simultaneously, in a charged hush, everyone else lights candles, some crying.

47. One animal wants nothing to eat. They want to share about the being they have been researching all month. They stutter twice with nervousness, before commencing to describe a snake, emerald green with eyes like fire, and a stripe running the entire length of its body that resembles its eye.¹³ This an animal from a distant land, nearly the other side of the planet from our heart-shaped plateau.

48. AFTER THE PARTY THE STARS COME OUT TO PLAY.

Some revelers, long after dark, carouse naturally through the woods, wearing only their costumes. This means various states of nudity and undress, the large coat of the bear and the barely there of the tiger, this year wearing only face paint. Splashing, grunting, sighing, deep breaths, various types and densities of flesh meeting, and generous hearty laughter. They are adorned in scales, glittering, fur of all lengths, diverse eyes to represent and recreate other beings’ seeing: infrared, reflective, lensed, camera, or compound. Fangs, elaborate wings, claws, fins, and other appendages, all being used to embrace one another in a chimeric conference. The reach of the celestial hunter extends above them. In the (often) harsh light of the Sun they experience heat. Here in the midnight they also share warmth. The globe and the climate are hot (though oscillating), seasons are unpredictable. The passion they feel in their hearts and for one another is another order of warmth altogether.

49. INSERT SIX. ON KIN.

The universe(/world/planet) is more frequently understood as united, reconciled, and radical, as it constantly self-organizes, and thrives most when least interfered with. If we make kin with those other beings around us, and recognize how we all contribute to the ki¹⁴ that is a network of being, it is possible for us to all find deep satisfaction. After all, the future is radical or it is not at all.¹⁵

50. They imagine, in the theater of their mind, verdant explosions, in all directions, throughout the universe entire. The great spaces of space, athanor of all possibility, unfurling, brimming with dark energy. and likewise inhabiting deepest caves and highest volcanoes.

51. INSERT SEVEN. TURTLES (& HORSES).

There are many accounts of the origin of the phrase or idea that it is “turtles all the way down.” As a resident of Turtle Island they believe that the origin of this infinite regress is obvious. If anything, the deepest turtle of the tower stands on soil, just like us. They have also been told that it might be “horses all the way up.”

52. CLEANING UP AFTER THE PARTY.

They are cleaning up after the party. There is much work to be done. The cleanup is a collaboration. There is pink gum in the green grass, piles of ice or ice cream like the mythic glaciers of old. They share the dishes and the dialogue, talking with someone, a kind of intimacy that can arise when working together, as one washes and one dries, rubbing each dish gently, sometimes in slow soft circles. The circles are placed upon a tablecloth dyed with rose petals. Stains of all kinds. Fingerprints on everything touched. Flies circle vigorously and shamelessly. A fly has died a splendid death in a pool of strawberry jam, others drown in liquor or wine. Strewn throughout are thin strips of paper scrawled with wishes and dreams, hopeful phrases, something like magic spells, favorite quotes, and some confessions and secrets. “The hairs on your head are countless and measureless,” reads one. Another paper reads “sic semper tyrannis” or “another world is possible” or “embrace simple health.” The wind is already stealing away with most of them.

53. They are wide awake. Their eyes sparkle and cheeks blush, but that might be from crying. Their grandparents near the coast were also known for their generous crying. They go to the kitchen, to the icebox, to confirm the food for tomorrow’s breakfast. The future awaits.

A toad hops by at the perimeter of candlelight. They watch the turtle walk, slow and steady, its own kind of grace almost floating, then bowing, to swallow a cherry in two or three bites, pit and all. They grab a pencil and make a note about “a cherry tree growing from a turtle’s back.” They are crying again.

54. They cry regularly. It is like weather and the rain, emotional moisture. They go to the pantry or refrigerator, and gather eggs, sugar, butter, flour, salt, milk, leavening—all the ingredients for a cake. They approach the sunrise, red as a strawberry this early, and throw the ingredients one by one (in the order one might mix/combine them) over a particular ledge. They scatter beautifully, for local spirits and some curious creatures large and small over the coming days). The attendees, still dressed as animals, wise owls sadly smiling, giddy goat, clever rabbits dashing as ever, tricky coyotes: paws joined, dancing in rings, magic circles. They continue to cry—the Moon is full.

The total EXTROPY/NEGENTROPY (LIFE-WARMTH) within and throughout the Universe therefore persists, oscillating and shifting, recurring and reiterating, repeating and relating. There is a tending toward the good. They are crying, their mouth agape. A prism in the window casts rainbows throughout the entire room scattered across each wall, ceiling, and floor. Their eyes are bright. Their mouth opens wider. It has been held that the Universe is infinitely complex. It is possible, and some say likely, that “big bangs” have occurred previously and will continue to recur. Open, oscillating, pulsating—beating like a heart, accommodating and perhaps even perpetuating life (at least on this one tiny blue marble, an island spaceship,¹⁶ spiraling through an ever-expanding universe). Their emotions are nearly boiling now, as they begin (or continue) to cry. The strawberries in the garden burst with fruit against the soft clay of the soil in full sunlight, small hearts warming, blood red.

They had no children; they cared for the children of others, in various capacities on different levels. But never bred themself. Their mouth is open(ing). They turn on the water and fill a quart glass. They drink the entire quart of water, in a series of extended gulps. Water is so precious.

They find a note high on the kitchen wall, “Octavia Butler is alive and doing well in Libre.” They write “Honey is a food of the Gods.”

A small puddle has formed on the floor, reflecting like a dark mirror. They look in and tears well up at the corners of their eyes as their mouth opens. They are crying. They cry. Thunder rumbles and crashes. The weather is never one, is always many, manifesting in a diverse simultaneity, unresolvable, within a thin blue envelope, writhing around a rock, more like a gem. Sand flows through an hourglass, whenever somebody flips it, and grains of sand on the shore are rivaled only by the stars in the sky. They continue to cry. They open their mouth, gulping more water, like a fish. Birds ribbon and cursive in their calligraphy high against the blue sky above the scattered ingredients. Flies have started to gather. A whole consortium, converging one another at this anomalous offering of matter and ingredients. The potential cake is visible, possible, obvious. The menagerie gathered circles, like a wheel, seen from right up close, whirling like particle planets, nearly around their head. Swiftly and slowly, through the fine, clear mountain air. The wheel arches slowly, persistently (¹⁷forever & ever, upon its crooked axis, as they put their queer shoulder to it.¹⁸

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1. A “cover” of Pamela Zoline’s “The Heat Death of the Universe” (1967), 2024.
2. In conversation with Roan Lord.
3. Ursula K. LeGuin, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction (London: Ignota, 2019).
4. In conversation with Robert Spellman and Joan Anderson.
5. John Curl, “The Drop City Newsletter Archive,” http://johncurl.net/the-drop-city-newsletter-archive/
6. Laurie Anderson with John Cage, “Taking Chances,” Tricycle, Summer 1992. (Cage is quoting D.T. Suzuki.)
7. Cormac McCarthy, The Road (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006).
8. Margaret Atwood, The Year of the Flood (New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2009).
9. ​​Sheri S. Tepper, The Gate to Women’s Country (New York: Random House, 1988).
10. Seyla Benhabib, The Reluctant Modernism of Hannah Arendt (London: Sage, 1996).
11. Bob Dylan, “Visions of Johanna,” Blonde On Blonde, Columbia Records, 1966.
12. In ongoing dialogue with Jennifer Lord, 2003 – present.
13. Lanna Green Pit Viper. Irene Wright, “New species of pit viper discovered in Thailand national park,” Miami Herald, https://www.miamiherald.com/news/nation-world/world/article287432425.html accessed: April 15, 2024.
14. Robin Wall Kimmerer, “Speaking of Nature: Finding language that affirms our kinship with the natural world,” Orion Magazine, March/April 2017.
15. In dialogue with Pamela Zoline and John Lifton, June 2024.
16. R. Buckminster Fuller, Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1969).
17. [The parentheses aren’t closed because there are endless possibilities to the feelings of the poet.] Charles Olson, Projective Verse (New York: Totem Press, 1959), p. 6-7
18. Allen Ginsberg, “America,” Collected Poems, 1947-1980 (New York: HarperCollins, 1984).