Month: March 2022

anarchia and other anachronisms

anarchia-and-other-anachronismsDownload

Man, woman, scythe, book: this story is for the people of Treehouse, yall inspire me.

This entire story came to me almost verbatim in a dream. But it took about two weeks to coalesce into coherence, that is, to write it down.

My goal was to do more worldbuilding. Which one of the difficulties is: if you start a lot of threads, how can you resolve all of them neatly- or should you? When so many relationships in life remain unfinished, still in tension. And one cannot know all things or even most things. So I’m working to strike a balance between enticing mystery and plain confusion.

My secondary goal was to actualize “the science of fiction,” a term that Nnedi Okorafor coined in her baller cyborg novel Noor. If fiction is the science of designing worlds parallel to our own, what then is an anarchist utopia? Not just fun to imagine: not just fun to read: but healing. The opening of a door.

As for other influences; I’m reading The Dispossessed and also, for some fucking reason I’m rereading C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia and that’s real fun. And I continue to think about Murakami a lot while steadfastedly not reading 1Q84, and N.K. Jemesin’s The Fifth Season in this season of wet cold.

This a draft. Subject to change. Enjoy, yall 🙂

snowmelt

migraine blue, grass rituals,
hoofprints, screams, thirst

crows with finger wings. 
occupied by airplanes, foreclosure on my hearing, sense bandwidth. 

rodent-deer, eating houses by the hundreds. 
I found poop, on the path 
and butterflies eating it. 

snowmelt is training season
can stay light and go long, 
no need to carry water. 

decades unboxed like boxcar songs. 
good sweat wet earth tongues 
explorer streams until thirst wanes
inner water dries where it is, 
mid-chase.

What is enough?

It's been headaches abrupt as sunrise since you 
Casually clarified you're not a homosexual 
and in the verbal static I quit stroking your hair. 

Counting the days til we relocate 
Cities apart, we've had enough. 
Eggs agitate to hatch. 

What are we full up of, measuring cup, to enough? 
Intentions doomed like foam whinnying
In language seeps, all bridgeward. 
 
But you are an adventurous hour, 
A wonderstate of shedding loss like screaming Fuck you too at trains
I'm responsible to you as I'm responsible to myself. 

You taught me prayer breathing
Which I use to find my small animal belly,
Which my first born will die of 
And come from, my hips an open nexus 
Like I could wash them in moonlight, 
Like my tipped tendons could catch rainwater.