Calamari’s off the menu
— all my alien friends are AIs consorting as cuttlefish
who don’t wear clothes since it’s pointless when you never know for sure
which end your limbs will sprout from —
locavores can be boring but they’re not wrong
I want hearts of palm and freesias in winter
all flown in
I’m a fool for that deep sticky pressurized
pool of oil
massive and incremental
all the changes, pecked to death by ducks
the earth our opponent
I can’t understand how that’s supposed to work
space-x just launched something and I watched it in real time with Jeff
all as it should be, hardly any waste, everything visible and shared
it’s going to the ISS and it’s a good thing; a place where the Americans and Russians are demonstrating genuine goodwill, not this wild tango of unsanitary deliberate disinformation
I’m so wretched about all of that
so wretched with it
so brought low
the sun’s a fleering halfwit in a pollen tank
blinking through clouds
each string and bone of this wildhearted body torqued at random
blinking through dry eyes and excruciating cut scenes
Flee — I’d love to — if I believed there was a place
elsewhere than a thief of progress
for the progress (or its lack) is forever with me
whether I redeem my aeroplan points or not
