Checkers and Hex
I'm Lunar, okay?
It feels as though my life were a chess match between I and an old friend who I’ve long not spoken. I do try initially, but I’m so outmatched it’s as if he knew rules I didn’t, openings, castling, always where I don’t want him to be and never where I do. Him obviously my better, I let my pieces slide off the board in polite abeyance, more inclined to conversation and him obliging, though sometimes curt in response. And as he deftly knocks one more, one more, one more and one more of my pieces off their square, I come to realize that this idle, this white noise as sought sensation and movement set aside for sight and sound was it after all, the only thing I’d ever do. I see my old friend a friend no longer, still old, more familiar, I feel futility at my diminishing resources, my increasingly limited options, how I let top tip to bottom without care, accusation: my eyes rise to meet his, my old no longer friend, finding not malice but apathy of scalpel steady, while unchecked black and white slither off tabled end, plane to pool one check at a time to climb his calves, wrap his waist, around the chest the last white spent leaving only one black square left, one square, one move, one life, one wasted, one of talent left in trash, one of relations renounced and finally fate one’ve no option, finality sense falls to compulsion and I’m gonna show my ass. 1 23 4 5
Every post and interceding 3 week cycles.
Can I fucking live?
I went crazy like, 4 times in 4 weeks, 4 x 7 = 28-4 = 24. That’s 24 days of not being crazy or discernably so. No one talks about that though.
Another thing woefully underdiscussed: the amount of high quality meetcutes the holocaust produced. That’s why they’re on top right now. Think about it. Don’t steal my essay idea.
Huge shout out to my biggest fans and collaborators for an exciting evening. Ironic emojis? True innovators, I love it here.