send without subject

  • the sensation youre feeling is the quickening
    coming up out of something and into your grille
    all edges and heavy outlines like a superhero
    font zooming into the inexhaustible past
    conditional sea, which is when you will finally
    become mortal and know what everyone alive
    is thinking and will actually think this
    is a good thing, both for you and for them,
    you ‘firm immediate knot’ of a regent, you
    flaming magnesium ribbon picketing reality,
    binding nothing. your ways into time will
    be cruel, your ways out likewise. but
    for now you can just relax on the couch
    and spend some quality time with your priceless
    antique scythe collection, going over the
    self-violence techniques you were taught
    450 years ago by a camp af conquistador
    in your head and saying to yourself
    “what else but death do we have in abundance?”
    and “yes i really should get that tattooed
    onto my deathless armpit”. good luck
    to you. we are just here in our sad
    dollar cell, like a million others, in the flooring
    of which youve conducted umpteen experiments,
    whose latest generation involved lacing
    it with the blockchain language sieve we
    are all now extruding our bodies and their
    inalienable time through. you are not
    at a loss, you are the loss that we are at.
    the problem of how to end. solved.