while the nail biting meat is sufficiently occupied, those who have electrostimulated their unmentionables will assume the lotus position and levitate for entry. don’t worry: the few witnesses will likely be written off by uncolorfuls as white-light purple-shroud finger-twirl-by-the-temple acid-popping sky-is-falling psychonauts, or rambling hyperactive unmedicated children in need of a time-out and an older, more glasses-wearing therapist. In the morning those uncolorfuls code crazy will simply be gone. Poof.
Drinking Games of the Future Part 4 – Present Tense
Sitting in my own lap, thumbing through messages dispensed from self ankle-deep in almost-sleep. Dreamy awake state summons her most dignified 1940s radio baritone and announces: Present. What about the present? Hakim Bey and Robert Anton Wilson and Carl […]
Drinking Games of the Future 3 – 2013
Just like sci-fi authors thought cars would fly but mimeograph machines would crank out purple tinted sheets of paper forever, our predictions of maybe-tomorrow are likely wrong. Envision the world noticeably not ending in 2012: hundreds of thousands of […]
On Dreaming (1) – No Pilot
Waking hours I am conductor, coaxing independent instruments with wandering keys and reeds to crash into passable music. Asleep my head is pure unfiltered noise, now with more pulp. Reckless unarmored, a slow motion owl-masked me stencils the first […]
Drinking Games of the Future Part 2: This is Not Awake
In the future we’ll name our children for colors and other things we used to know before everything greyed to ash. We’ll throw invisible spears at visible gods asking why nothing was done to stop the burning of sea […]
Recalling Summer, 2009
Amish kids are eating sandwiches that taste better than mine, wrapped in wax paper and pulled from metal lunch pails they carried on to the Amtrak. They don’t have luggage, just the sandwiches on thick slices of bread, adorned with slabs of meat and cheese that smell curiously clean.