It’s morning in America. Daphne, chased by Apollo, grows hooves. We live in an age of conspiracism and insincerity. Spring and summer will not follow. Staying below two degrees might be a challenge. It’d be corny to call it Orwellian. We reached the limits of what moral outrage can do. Miraculously, we still made decisions. Acting recklessly. Lining up at the barricades. The more you have, the more you have to protect. Eye contact is everything. Already, the oil field was quieter. Misogyny converts reality. All that love for objects. It sanctifies him. He wore a face that spoke of multiple divorces. She was bitter about her beauty. That’s all in an evening screening. We’re in a definitional war. Publicity beats truth. Art that risks nothing is worth nothing. A negation of the possibility of forgetting. A private fiefdom. A child on whom childhood was wasted. A game of inches. Ask a pundit or professor. There are only so many laughs to be had.

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