thee istsfor manity reader

i dreamt

i dreamt myself into being
at the aperture of solitary sanguinity
it was somewhere near the sun
for i felt the furnace heat

the cold tried to muscle through
but it was kept at bay
in darkness

i dreamt myself into a foray of nucleotides
so base in the compound of life
compacted, refracted, primordial
i felt the furnace heat

death
in its infinite darkness
was away at hermitage

i dreamt myself into a swagger of hope
the heat and the hate sloughed away
a second skin
barren husk

i hissed at the universe—
sir,
i exist!

i dreamt
that i dreamt
at the bottom
of a dream

What I’m Reading:

“Everyone tells everybody else to write on water if he wants a durable medium. I hired a durable medium once and got to talk to everyone of Karl Marx’s imitations of Attila the Hun.”

— John McKernan / “Dear Y.”

Signs & Legends

There is no legacy in semiotics, she thought—nothing to tether to—not land, historical connection, cultural heritage—it was a deep deracination. She found no reason for planting any of her own signs, for setting her own roots, for begetting generations. She expected another apocalyptic culling—this one global. So why read signs?

Take a blithe light around the blockyard, you. Just leave me alone. You gimcrack tchotchke addict. Get your orgiastic superstars elsewhere, maybe at the Debauched Mart—they’re open 24 hours. Be off with you … and your pedestrian fish pix. So, again, why read signs?

What I’m Reading:

“There’s no way to overthrow the system without going outside and making some eye contact. No matter how small your carbon footprint, you can’t simply forgo food and comfort and sex all your life and call yourself ethically self-sacrificial.”

— Tess Gunty / The Rabbit Hutch