I live in an old film. My sight tears and glitches sometimes, the curves of my form wound in a vhs tape. If you play me back in a time machine, you’ll see rain flying up from the ground – sapphires taking petrichor and tiny fossils of light with them. The producer of this film is smoking by the turnpike. The director melts water and keeps an old ledger book lined with my hair of every time I don’t show up to live.
Day: January 24, 2026
Glittering Desert of Diamonds Ruled By The Worst of Us
Seas of silty green glitter carry life like a gloat to the unexamined shores of the Present – a glittering desert of diamonds ruled by the worst of us wearing designer bags. The new life will sprout transparent like ghosts, but immovable like a disapproving father. It will reflect life, envy, wealth, inexperience. New money aesthetic laid like a costume over a third world spiritual plane of poverty. We can all dance the Charleston and drink our grandmother’s wine, but our prayers bounce among our children like deflated balloons and the rent has come due on our bodies and we have nothing but glitter and smoke.
Miniature Moon 