Do you ever think you have burnt something down, flames ablaze in your mind and ash sprinkled through your hair from the inside out?

I swore to glob I left a sage bundle burning this morning on my wooden bookshelf, next to fucking books. My heart did a quick sprint, rerunning the mind slides, did I stub it out? Didn’t I do like twenty minutes of yoga before I dashed out of the house? Sage can’t create flame anyway but my brain can create a fantasy.

No fertilizer required, I can create a catastrophe, a full feature film of absurdity. Likely why I don’t watch TV, it is eye of Mordor chaos in my think tank. Vivid & pungent, like a cortex cream pie.

But back to the real fake world, the one we slide our flesh around in as we willingly plunge into rectangular black holes. I’m submerged in the realm of ‘dating’ apps. Is there a manual for this shit? There is truly something delightful about a carousel of selfies, are we trying to sell the idea of ourselves or lists of sports?

It’s a bizarre cataclysm baiting us away from tradition, my pussy has gone to sleep but my mind is enraptured. Who are these communicative pictures, barely weaved together by 3 photos and a bio that says bio’s are lame.

Someone wrote me a haiku so I wrote them one back,

I’d love some Ramen

Hot moist miso noodles yum

You can keep the egg.

He liked it, then told me he doesn’t like mushrooms. I ceased messaging after that, because he doesn’t like a vegetable and has got some lonely musician vibes but fuck, there is zero context in this app and the words feline fish spring to mind often.

I long for a deep bath and a starry night, yes the claw foot tub is outside. Here is where we will sit, building forts with bubbles and pretending the world isn’t on fire. But you can’t feel chemical reactions through phones so its artificial love from here on out.