Sometimes serious

An unknown heaviness in the air as if each gas was a loaded isotope as if every little bit of water vapour were made instead with deuterium as if your arteries were clogged but  with lead instead of innocent fat. I go into a classroom. A wall of various faces detesting how the idea of education itself is premised upon hope even the criticism premised upon an imagined reuptake of the utopian flavor of control and how teaching criticism feels like an exercise in astrology when all fears come vaguely true in a vague amount of time for a vaguely coherent set of persons. the impossibility of knowing if THIS is dystopia today. is it today at 16.21 o clock? Are we failing to see or seeing too much, and who is scaffolding seeing? Is THIS specific imagination of the end true or is far and how likely would it be for us to survive and where and how far away and how far away from exactly what? Such a time that whole years are like nuclear isotopes of normal minutes loaded with extra neutrons in th