"Lilacenobite"
bell jar of the ballroom
belligerent fidget
photocopy Gliese
in my dustblue backpack
dog-eared, big black clamp
measure my head for Akubra
path perished · the meet apocryphal
only this poem stands
the future ravaged · unimaginably
guess where to hide stuff now
popcorn smell · smartly drifts
monkeyhump of map-cringe
mucho scar-escutcheon
bell jar of the ballroom
barcode from the Dark Web
"I keep coming back to this image. A forest of independent, human scale things. Small newsletters. Small studios. Small cooperatives. Small tools made by people who use them, for other people who use them, with no ambition to swallow the world. Not a return to some imagined golden age of the early web — that was its own kind of mess — but a quieter version of what we have now, where the layer between you and the people you want to read or talk to is thin enough that you can see through it." —Sascha via
"...not for real madness, but for its privilege of its exception."
No comments:
Post a Comment