At the Conglomeroid Cocktail Party

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I am contemporary. I am conglomeroid. I am post-causal, contra-linear, pepto-modern. To be anything else is to be dead, nezpah? Is to be a fossil. A sense of infinite potential and a stance of infinite readiness: that’s the right philosophy for our recombinant era. Alert to all possibilities, holding oneself always in an existentially pliant posture.

So when quasi-cousin Spinifex called and said, “Come to my fetus-party tonight,” I accepted unhesitatingly. Spinifex lives in Wongamoola on the slopes of the Dandenongs, looking across into Melbourne. I happened to be in Gondar on my way to Lalibela when his call came. “Mortissa and I have a new embryo,” said Spinifex. “We want everyone to help us engineer it. There’ll be a contest for the best design. The whole crowd’s coming, and some new people.” Some new people. Could I resist? It’s not such a big deal to go from Ethiopia to Australia for a fetus-party. Two hours, with transfers. I was on the pop-chute in half a flick. Pop to Addis, pop to Delhi, pop to Singapore, pop to Melbourne, pop pop pop pop and I was there. Some new people. Irresistible. That was the night I met Domitilla.

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