February 14, 2025

A Coat Under Glass

I looked at the Old Internet today. The world as-it-is produces a profound repulsion (in the magnetic sense) pushing you away and awhen, making such things inevitable. Nostalgia is a kind of depression and to be avoided at all costs; your past self was ignorant and life just gets sweeter the longer you let it slosh around in the barrel. There is a thought growing inside me that love is the answer, as I had always suspected in all honesty. But just so as if I had a beak I would be a bird if I had a heart I would be an island. That is not to say you can’t buy some plaster, and some elastic ties, and make a very functional beak. It would be foolish to not at least try. Consider the freedom of wings, how you would go out across the sea and skim the waves with your belly, faster and faster until the land drops off the world. You’d go so fast your eyes would sting and tears would clog in your feathers, so fast your little heart wobbles like a spinning top, until the moment comes and you burst up into the clouds; they are cool on your skin like shrink wrap and rubbing alcohol. You rest at the brackish border between the sky and the vaults of space, hoarfrost forming on your dangling limbs. Close your eyes and fall.

Previous post RPBourgeoisie It’s that time of year again, three months since the last crowdfunding campaign. I’m listening to Creeping of the Gods by The Intangible. It doesn’t