During the hourly wake of the city's mourners,
I escaped
to where none of us dared venture,
with the gynandromorphophile's long shadow
over my shoulder,
I escaped
to where no other nectar but yours—the XY-code's,
was harvested by the drones…
Nostalgia tastes like toffee. Like butterscotch. Like caramel. And that’s the danger of it. It’s confection. It’s empty calories. All sugar and no substance. The longing for something that isn’t real.
"When time permits,
we cover ourselves with moss
to soften the violence of flight,
listen for ripples in the atmosphere
waiting for the proper slipstream
to carry us, back to the place
where a slight turn of our head
altered the course of planets."
We always found ourselves in Magdalena, a quaint, abandoned town nestled far in the western reaches, Lya and I, as we ventured into the Spree. I didn’t know why. And I had never really thought about it. Until now…
In the neon-lit sprawl of tomorrow, I'll hoist
the milky-white rose
of synthetic essence—its fragrant code will weave
through the data stream, perfuming
the holonight's
Pro-Rata enthymeme
with sweet binary echoes of virtual "Qui Vive."
"There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them."
Spent all weekend working on a project that failed. Today’s newsletter almost didn’t happen. It’s hasty and haphzard. When it comes to luster, it’s lacking. But…it’s here…
In the neon-lit sprawl of tomorrow, I'll hoist
the milky-white rose
of synthetic essence—its fragrant code will weave
through the data stream, perfuming
the holonight's
Pro-Rata enthymeme
with sweet binary echoes of virtual "Qui Vive."
VERNISSAGE
Holographs by Max R. J. Ovbi
Galería Cubana, New Moscow, UN City.
Sunday 30 December, 2323.
4pm—9pm
In the neon-lit sprawl of tomorrow, I'll hoist
the milky-white rose
of synthetic essence—its fragrant code will weave
through the data stream, perfuming
the holonight's
Pro-Rata enthymeme
with sweet binary echoes of virtual "Qui Vive."
VERNISSAGE
Holographs by Max R. J. Ovbi
Galería Cubana, New Moscow, UN City.
Sunday 30 December, 2323.
4pm—9pm
"The sheep get up and make their many tracks
And bear a load of snow upon their backs,
And gnaw the frozen turnip to the ground
With sharp quick bite, and then go noising round"