Veering Towards Valerium Venerium

Where’s the action? The waves? The munitions? The minions? I don’t particularly dislike others but you might say I have an unresolved self-loathing issue ricocheting about in my cranium—and it’s rather spacious in there because I don’t make much use of the gray matter made available to me—but that loathing manifests in a distinct misanthropy. So I use my machete—early and often. I whistle while I work, hacking at ideas, ideations, idolators, and idiopathic strangeness in the venereal realm. I’m an equal opportunity serial hacker (others call me a barbarian) either way, I’m always ready, willing and … involute in my volubility. I say nothing when I say a lot. Where’s the valerian root? The moon has a moony face (apropos of nothing)—and violence continually flares at my peripheries. Welcome to the world, c. 2022 CE. What a place! What faces! What?! … huh?!

What I’m Reading:

“Holy images covered every wall of my parents’ house.
Their house had the immobility of a nightmare.
The first color I knew was that of horror.”

— Kathy Acker / My Mother: Demonology