Life rolls along with a quiet ferocity that can lull one into normalizing intermittent calamities and ongoing emergencies alike. Maybe this is part of developing a coping mechanism, to fall into a routine that accommodates ruptures that could be more jarring, even ones that might have been delivered precisely in order to jolt us
{fast-forwarding from 5+ years ago…} It would be hard to overstate just how dire our current predicament truly is — and while it may be tempting to encapsulate our woes within the confines of the grim year 2020, this is evidently an acute flare-up of a protracted period of internal crises and ignored preexisting
Streaming on a Loop I saw the worst minds of your generation Well, fucking everywhere Madmen in plastic pouches Clutching petroleum purses On pleather couches Counting fortunes fueled On broken backs And acrid stacks Pushing brinks in the night Where forty winks nod To the fall of all As pens run out of ink