Varvara Stepanova is walking forwards.
The Queen of Mars is hungry.
Kiss me, like the people on Earth do.
getting whipped on the Great Night—
who wouldn’t love it?
I am all red from my headscarf to my workaboots
and my shirts and shorts are stiff as a flag.
My empty head whispers of Gabo
when stirred in the night.
I believe in something.
Moving me forward,
moving me ever so deeply,
is a guitar-sound in your throat.
'Twas an ancient city,
Tyrian colonists held her—
The best lines of verse
can be divided exactly into two.
The best human beings
can be combined, exactly, into a One.
Dancing like Nomi and singing as well,
white on white, two burblers we.
They have wailed all this quicker than synecdoche,
more mightily than the canopy of the world.
Tartan Socks For Highland Dancing.
Your Desert Boots are so unkind to me.
The forgiveness of college textbooks.
'Twas an 'twas an 'twas an 'twas an
(TEE-ree-ann COLL-oh-neests heeeeeld herrrrr)
KAR / THA / GO
new aesthetic: cryptidcore
- kitschy t shirts and keychains from souvenir shops depicting the local urban legends and monsters
- glow in the dark stuff and generic alien themed stuff
- tin foil hats
- muffled x files, gravity falls, and twilight zone theme songs playing in the distance
- staring into the night sky and wondering if we’re alone
- lots of pictures of the woods and abandoned houses