enigma

A cell turned inside out gravitates towards the inner walls of the body in which in inhabits, turning tricks at us all, mocking the viewer, eyeball agape and wide, glaring down the huge magnification apparatus that we call a microscope. But to the cell its macro. Recent developments have led us to believe that we must now rewrite all that’s been written, cast aside all that we know, and let this be demonstrated in real-time, avant-garde, on a stage, nude, carrying buckets of eggshells because how could we possibly know which one came first? Regimented regulation, siamese consciousness, the parallel universe from which it all unfolds, like a book, like a piece of laundry – symmetry and aesthetic duress. Razorblade sharp and razorblade thin, skating on the wings on ice queens that have never eaten a hamburger before. And just when you think it’s all over, just when you think you can’t take anymore, there you are again – Siphoning the DMT from the rock, struggling and wracking your brain, trying to crack it, trying to open it and it’s the Big Bang All Over Again. Not nice anthems tell you to suck it up and keep trying, but you’re worthless and will never succeed. Plush peace sign pillows as carnival prizes. Stamps are adhesive and stick to the things we stick them to. First class mail is a lie. Peddling puppetry on a stage cast by those we obscenely trust, turn the other way and suck our thumb. Pacifist pacifier.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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