when times are weird, we must be weirder. the glitch is in the strange cruelties of modernity/the ways we avoid making eye contact with truth/how we lock ourselves into the despair of human limitations/why we cling to the familiar in the face of chaos. And/or the glitch is the throwing of self into the void/the audacity of giving in to the crush of being alive/the surrender to the ecstatic liminal. we are utterly isolated and we are inescapably collective/we parse fragments and distortions into the artforms of our lives/we attempt to make sense in the marriage of technicolor boredom with the beige violence of crumbling corporate dystopia/cut and paste old patterns to taste the new.
there is no hope in resisting a glitch, expecting the unexpected is resistance itself/ let the inevitable find you lapping at the nectar of the mystery and ask it to join you. We magic ourselves into revolution through barking laughter in the face of a domestication/ we live frugally tending to the joyful defiance/the future is bleeding through the wound of forgetting, bleeds through if you let it, tear off the bandage/ remember? how strange, how awful, how dare you not remember? choosing, now, beauty in the dissolution/ these littered gutters and the scarred earth will bloom something fierce and alive, if we have anything to say about it, and we do, we do, we choose magic every life, time/love, every time/ that’s how we stay alive, despite/ despite it all, after all, here we are!
here we are-- our eyes touch in fleeting, against all odds, in these words across the cluttered universe; we know we are in this together, you know?