while you sleep

Creases

Sodden targets
In an era of rampant mental illness.
Loose lips sink shrinks.
What have you tested for?
The results remain the flame.
You’ve received a phone call
That says you are loathed.
A surveillance expert creases
Your papers while you sleep.
You’ve been living underground
For two breathless months
And you don’t know what that means.

What I’m Reading:

“I don’t recall asking to be conceived! Neither did my parents come to think of it. Even so. Score to be settled. Children are vengeance.”

—John Barth / “Autobiography: A Self-Recorded Fiction”

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please move on

Press play button above to watch my short film Hair Shirt (:40)

What I’m Reading:

“Let the fog’s calls
go to voicemail. Tell the fog
to eat shit, burn the fog’s letters.”

— Ruth Madievsky / “Fog”

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into the center

Phosphene Dream (redux)

He produced phosphenes that smelled of mandarin oranges — a strange synesthetic effect that followed the orange-rimmed yellow spots that exploded in his closed-eye vision.

He thought this was an improvement on the phosphenes of his youth that smelt of rotting meats and animal carcasses, and filled his nights with monstrous nightmares.

He finally felt like an adult. He thought he’d arrived at the happiest point of his life, but he felt his brand was in peril. Only the whip smartest YouTubers and TikTok’ers could make the scene, and his phosphenes were falling behind.

So he really pressed down hard on his eyes this time and they fell into the center of his head, down his sinuses, and mysteriously into his esophagus, and through his digestive tract.

His vision was something spectacular now — 12K Supreme! It was like a Haight Ashbury psychedelic oil light show at a Grateful Dead concert, c. 1966 — every time another enzyme, bile, or gastric acid washed over his eyes making their way through this world of gastrointestinal wonder — phosphenes like he’d never seen before exploded through his eyeless head — sending bright yellow sparks out of his vacant eyeholes.

Man, it blew him away.

And when the peristalsis finally evacuated his eyes into the depths of his own rectum— the time was now! Now he knew he’d be the supreme influencer to all mankind.

He tapped out a telegraph to his mother: “Success, Mother! I’m finally in my own rectum and about to be born again!”

What I’m Reading:

“It is too early to tell exactly how much harder the wind will blow, how much hotter the sun will shine. That is for the future. But their meaning has already changed.”

— William McKibben / The End of Nature

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your mystery date

Screen Saver Reverie

This is a diagram of dashed hopes. This is a crash-dash bifurcation of the cerebrum. There is a disconnect here. This is suggestive of terrible things to come. Proof positive of all the damage incurred. Wondering what’s behind the door that has Psychiatric stenciled on it. What’s behind the door that reads Private? Try to open your eyes. You cannot open them. You’re the meanest of all the dogs. You are a piece of stone. You are a statue. Now open the door. Are you ready for your mystery date? Mystery date.

What I’m Reading:

“Once I sat in the rain,
opened my mouth to the sky.
I yearned to be changed.
But each drop was a small knife.”

— Victoria Chang / “Far Along in the Story”

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in the mist

Ocean Sounds

She spoke to her AI speaker, “Play ocean sounds.” The speaker responded and complied.

She dreamt of a thin pixellated mist outside her window as the opening shot to her next film.

She placed her hand on her clavicle—fingertips finding soft pourchase in the hollow just above the bone. The contact sent a hot fist-sized ball coursing through her nerves to the center of her brain where she felt a concussive shock which sent barbs out through to every nerve ending in her body.

“I don’t feel normal. I feel as if something is off,” she said to a formless shadow in the mist. “Without any raw footage I have nothing to edit. Where’s my Bolex?” She rolled her glasses up on her head, keeping the hair off of her face.

The shadow spoke: “I think you should reconsider what you consider an appropriate gift. The only riveting thing about you are the rivets in your underhanded glances.”

Squalls of psychobilly guitar cut the air. She did a pogo-twist as if she were on the stage at Max’s Kansas City.

The sound transfigured into a spray of arterial blood on her bedroom ceiling. The walls, the floor the mirror behind the bedroom door were covered in spatters. A small pool of congealed blood in the corner next to her hamper. Drag marks on the floor.

She woke gasping for air. The ocean sounded like cyclonic roil. She woke up twisted in her sheets, on her side, with her head perched off the edge of the bed.

She called in sick. She had to sleep again to recover from the way she slept. She swore off indica edible gummies. Never again.

What I’m Reading:

“How many bodies have you carried into your meditation?”

— Laura Wetherington & Hannah Ensor / “Feel Fragments”

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use the skins

Excerpts from My Inbox

A serious mistake was made giving less than 24 hours-notice … We have a cat and a charming baby … I would describe it as a dark comedy I suppose … Creamy white leather sofa–like new condition … Joy’s daughter recommends the latest influencers … I am pretty nervous because my dumplings were undercooked … Are there a few people who have been biking and feel ready to take the next step—a roughly 40-mile bike trip? … I have to go through and use the skins … Legs removed for easy transport $75 … She’s going to be renting out a giant banquet hall … I am directing a 10 minute play … Brief rain shower in 7 minutes … The quarterly fire alarm and sprinkler testing will be conducted tomorrow morning … I spent the next year freaking out everyday … If you have a shopping cart in your possession, please return it as soon as possible.

What I’m Reading:

“For the majority of the earth’s population on whom it has been imposed, the internet complex is the implacable engine of addiction, loneliness, false hopes, cruelty, psychosis, indebtedness, squandered life, the corrosion of memory, and social disintegration. All of its touted benefits are rendered irrelevant or secondary by its injurious and sociocidal impacts.”

— Jonathan Crary / “The Digital Age is Destroying Us”

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truckfuls of trees

Immiserations

Everyday Extinctions

Covered in crude
Black beach
Hell’s coast

Truckfuls of trees
Clear cut
Denuded forest

Rich as Croesus

What I’m Reading:

“Deforestation currently adds about a billion tons of carbon to the atmosphere annually, which is twenty per cent or more of the amount produced by the burning of fossil fuels. And that acre of rainforest, which has poor soil and can support crops for only a few years, soon turns to desert or to pastureland.”

— William McKibben / The End of Nature

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i’d rather not

Abnegation

I don’t want to.
I’d rather not.
Please, no.
Negatory.
Nah.
No.

What I’m Reading:

“… the air around us—even where it’s clean, and smells like spring, and is filled with birds—is significantly changed. We have substantially altered the earth’s atmosphere.”

— William McKibben / The End of Nature

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crack through asphalt

Shadow Haiku

Weeds crack through asphalt
Vines choke exposed steel rebar
Man but a shadow

What I’m Reading:

“Without recognizing it, we have already stepped over the threshold of such a change. I believe that we are at the end of nature.”

— William McKibben / The End of Nature

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to melt away

Consigned

We streamed into the stream
The water we stood in
We stood in
Only once

We eventually returned to where
We came from
We came from a desolate place

We began to melt away

I was not sorry


We had been in time
In time we’ll be again
Or we won’t

What I’m Reading:

“Anaphora makes a narrative.
Every risk a colorfield.”

— Laura Wetherington & Hannah Ensor / “Feel Fragments”

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