Your feelings are flags, guiding you painfully towards unimaginable and enormous fortune. Stay outraged, stay attentive to the tremors of your soul as you rift through this garbled juncture of time. Where volunteers flock to infect their own blood, where we inaugurate the apathetic, and we supersize vegetables- feeding off the fat of the land with crackhead efficiency. Welcome to earth they say: everyone has autism and the sexless have sex. Even the real wild women are worshipping a satellite shaped like the moon, pedestalizing politicians, sending subconscious strength to the machine. Our doctors, they’re so kind, they supply services for stretching our skin. Our WiFi is top speed, so phantom airwaves can reassemble every revolutionary thought.
Strategize your celebrity: til you are so big that your childhood is microscopic, til your personality is so perfect and pornographic, it gets showcased in radioactive storefronts, seething an agenda into every else’s living room. Get a manicure and get malnourished, they say. Be like her, the girls’ girl, Miss American Mediocrity. Let a bright blonde angel supply sedatives for your spirit. Inhale until you only cough up culture, until you sink and sulk and forget the truth. They chain you to boxcars bouncing from party to party, shackle your ankles to the cyclical machinery of this twisted cynical scene. There is a camaraderie between those disillusioned by blue light dreams, curating their consumption, given free handouts of MK ultra designer drugs. Provoking suicidal dramas with holy laughter and gossip incantations.
They always try to take the most from the best. So you think you should pack it up, run away from it all. Try saluting a new sky. A non-choice is the most destructive. When you let water stagnate, it turns sour. A non-choice leads to rot, mold, and decay.. You leave the light behind your eyes on, and ward off wicked men. Don’t accept codeine cuddles from anyone who wasnt built for you. Don’t let them creep into a crater formed in someone else’s absence.
You are the girl everyone heard of, but the girl that no one cared to hear. You carved your own tombstone too chaotically. You should repent for your relevance. Ask god for a curfew. When you are free from the fixing gaze of spectators, you exist in a space of quantum superposition. Without onlookers in the simulation, you can be all things at once. Condense your resentment in a Dolce and Gabbana dress, wrap up your pretty young frame. Keep strip teasing on telephone poles until they hear your message. Til they’re at your feet, weeping under the steeples of your stilettos.
“Love is alive, God is alive. Steal back your soul. Seek out all magic that isn’t manufactured. All women are demonic and all women are divine, and the men are mechanical mirrors- performing what we hold both rotten and righteous in any given moment and it keeps repeating until we’ve let it all out, every brilliant octave of ecstasy and every devastating betrayal- and we have to feel it to set it free. It’s the only way out - the only way out is through.”