Stay Home

Tarnish your creativity. Spout rejoinders on repeat and impress your casual acquaintances during cocktail circles. Piddle about in aimless banter. Don’t glow, but please wear your goalkeeper stilettos and your mattock face. Speak in errant arpeggios—say much: mean nothing. You are the epitome 21st century stylist. The earth grows green, without really greening—it’s just a bunch of Cyanobacteria clogging our oceans and waterways: farm run-off, stimulants, depressants, and tinges of lead and mercury addenda for all—and take those nitrogen-fertilizer-carbon-bomb bon-bons for humanity as a chaser. Drink up! Bring scissors and rungs. Climb the ladder of life as you cut the helixes free from your DNA strands. Bring your lighters, goalposts and mattresses. We’ll provide the stillbirths and paradigm mutations. We’ll make all the medical journals! Use this cut-up to center your clergy. They don’t pay much mind anyway—they’ve got the godheads on the payroll. Otptional covenants for those in sequins and lamé. The brighter the better—be an endless go-getter. Get yourself got in the land of plentiful weapons and manifest destiny. Better yet, stay home.

What I’m Reading:

Between the waves of disembowelling wrench the world is shining. I feel like Aldous Huxley on mescaline. I am drenched in is-ness.

— Megan Hunter / The End We Start From