Enter ghost All the beautiful rooms
are empty
All the accounts deactivated
Calendars vacated of all spectacle all spectacular affairs
We no longer touch
each other’s faces
We dream of vengeful animals
escaping their electrified enclosures
Suspiciously low flying airplanes
Houseplants sickening and dying from the burden
of our smothering love
"The poet is of no party." BaudelaireOur manifesto is an act of substantiation.
We reject all forms of futilitarianism, in whatever disguise.
We believe that comedy is the song of the village and tragedy the song of the goat.
We believe what is written in the books, but now we want to see for ourselves.
The single idea, beating on the same doors in vain.
The analogue and the invention.
The death cell.
The first permission.
Though we watch the stage for things to happen, though our minds wander.
By ourselves in the green field, playing our diversion.
Though the story begins with the loss of a home.
Out of the machine, we shift restlessly in our seats.