I strip the body depressive.
chewed my tongue through,
discarded my speech with the muscle.
I brought myself back twice
and grew wings where my splintered arms fell
to common ground.
and knotted veins
and prayer. I’m burdened
with the disease of language –
with all these walls we built.
Yeezus, Jesus, frees us, Frieza.
Pop culture is mutually assured destruction,
Climate change is mutually assured destruction.
You are the charms,
you are the charms,
Dean Young’s repetition is not my ending.
My ending is grandiose
Crystal meth is the new Tamagotchi,
we’re all yearning to be anti-heroes,
to be bastards,
so we’ve forgotten how to not matter.
Your stardom doesn’t matter
when viewed through a telescope –
everybody’s ego ceases to exist eventually.
and swollen plots
from connecting multimedia.
Generally, it’s all too meta to matter.
You aren’t the charms.
1679 zeroes and ones
just to say:
we’re here and while there may be no point to any of this, we’d really like to invite you round for dinner, if you have a moment spare?
– Aaron Kent
the connectivity of which you speak was precisely my intent.
right you are too of the swollen nature,
the speech was excessive but in the end i felt i could not leave it on the edit room floor and so,
as one might expect, i surrendered.
i am unable to attend the fete of which you speak but may send round a surrogate should ascension decree.
your kindness is immeasurable and it is to you that i attend
– Stephanie Barber