A Queer Little God

  Nothing is distinct from its other; the foundation of development is the sinking sun. The hands of youth interlocked in a ring, dancing around the microcosm before “we all fall down” a-tissue, a-tissue, a tissue of life. The object, in phenomenological space, is created from the inside out; neural space constitutes it from the…

A Disappointing Apocalypse

The Movers, sometimes known as the Metix, known often in less educated and angrier circles as Migs and Zooms; discussed in terms of Mitigants by the Liberal Press and the Swarms by those whom were sucking on silver spoons or their own feet at any given point; fenced in by The Reality, sent back by The Time, allowed to find their own ways by the Dream which served to briefly protract the Demise of the Fourth Union before the stamping feet, banner waving, screaming, red-faced, half-sighted Hordes, supported by the Provincial Privies (who gave some tawdry social credence to the violent, cuntish actions of the HEIL HEIL HEIL mobs) that suffocated the optimism of any person of heart, that turned the stomachs of those who could see how things would transpire if the restrictions continued.