A System of Nitrates and Something Wankers Would Call "a Philosophy"

I remember why I (never settled on a name for what I am doing) quit making things with other things than words, I like making things with other things than words more than making things with words though I still like making things with words but not as much as making things without words and what I make without words will be about what I make with words and visa versa but when I make things I've never settled on a name for what I'm doing it gets closer to what I mean than what I make with words

Flooding in the Sacrifice Zone

Borial forests nearing the tipping point

Climate imperialism in the 21st century

Fining the poor instead of taxing the rich

Hot takes on Dark Brandon phenomenology

Dark Brandon surprised when NPR-historians tell him about American fascists

The ever-changing lexicon of the obscene

How he missed the midnight sun

Incredibly bad news: Number One Sons closing

Reminder: I do think of each post as a poem and make it as such

The story of feminist punk in 33 songs

Deathcamp Meetcute (a very short story)

We hiked w Hamster past Saturday, in his Nats hat he looks like Kurt Wagner

Hey! Have another new Lambchop song

THRASH ME

Sean Bonney

These days everyone is writing their final book. Whatever. I've lost everything as well. My body is made up of three needles, several coins, a system of nitrates and something wankers would call "a philosophy." I see in the dark and like to smash mirrors. For many other people things are far worse. I roam around town reciting an old poem by Anita Berber: CORPSE. KNIFE. CORPSE. KNIFE. LIGHT. There are moments each evening when I think I can see that light. It shines in all the rooms I've lived in, all the rooms and cities that we have always loved always despised. COINS. MIRRORS. LIGHT