Fragments spun from swan plumage and impressionist skies
Topsy turvy snippets about this (psychedelics), that (slow apocalypses), and the other (French bread)
Φ Messy hand, messy lines, messy thoughts. Fragile as a baby deer but strong as an ox. The overwhelm was just short of panic, the porcelain whites of our eyes gleaming in the absolution of the sun. The fractal landscape overcame us like whitewash when the waves in a set barrel into each other like bison over a cliff. We were not quite ready, never ready enough but it fell into place as it always does, by some coalescence of trust and goodwill. Trust the process. Trust the molecule. Let the love in, let the fear go and grow by leaning into the wind.
Φ China is dropping balloons. Zion is dropping drone payloads. Evian is dropping its latest bottle design. Grand-Prix for the best-looking trash. Macron is dropping all pretenses. I’m dropping my guard out of spite. Tech giants are dropping lithium-ion batteries into absolutely everything, and everything is IPX waterproof because everything runs downstream and everything ends up in the water. Everything is connecting to everything except people who are almost entirely made of water and I’m dropping jaws. I’m dropping disconnected mics after shouting myself hoarse in a soundproof virtual forest. The trees are dropping dead without making a single sound and I’m dropping through the floor, waking up in freefall, making all the noise I can.
Φ I’ll miss the bread when all is gone. Le pain de campagne, the rye, the oat— a loaf, my kingdom for a loaf! I’ll miss the girls, the pussy cats lips like petits beurres, tongues like Malabars. I’ll miss the bigotry, so soft spoken, the kind of self-aware bigotry that says we can all be bigots with enough bonhomie. I’ll miss the luxury—le vrai luxe, c’est l’espace. The space race for good taste. The ornamental bars of the gilded rat cage. Oh, I’ll miss the Dark Ages, the madness of Pigalles, la folie des Folies, the primeval slime of table wine. The Black Cats, the Culture Rapids, the Anglo islands in a sea of cheese. The bomb threats and the riot police. The eggs on toast for breakfast while your cat watches me carefully pour milk into your coffee.
I really want to hear this aloud