On the page opposite, an image of the Burning
Man and his flaming shadow where it is similar to
what language poets believe grammar itself to be
in a vacant future. The optics play
especially well in the pricier suburbs and gated
communities where they refuse to let the devil in
no matter what language he speaks whisperingly
in their ears. In town, the mass protest was heavily
advertised; however, the deal included
the spaghettification of those masses in real time.
Still humans are territorial animals, people
have the necessary tools. Dazzling in what those outposts
had to offer (a blur of sugar, bright color and crassness)
‘I imagined some kid who moved only, or mostly,
through such bland bright spaces, spaces
perfectly constructed to suit the purposes of distant
profit.’ Yet, in sarcoline fields we are already seeing
all my life decisions, the timeline itself a bit wobbly, not
quite stable, a sacrifice of lives. Here I see a rise
in solidarity, dystopian cities, a bent circle,
a carnival ride where the lights go out. Venus in Scorpio.