superlatives are the dreariest thing i encounter over the course of my day. the best this, the greatest that, the blankety-blank of all time. since i cannot seem to dodge them, let me join the party: i must be the least interested of all fucking beings in our systemic accolade olympics. the greatest jade of merit in our meritocracy (for which the lifetime achievement award is insanity). talk radio is all talking in my head while i color my nails with lead paint. my cats sleep on surge protectors so they won’t get short-circuited by the drones sculpting into formless shape the thoughtscape of all tomorrows. my mascara has thickened and scrapes the lenses of my glasses, until i can no longer see a thing. i sacrifice my clarity into a datastream bubbling toward and then away from me. leaving me behind. i can’t remember shit. time for a selfie.
oh. there i am. looking pretty. looking pretty silly. looking pretty silly with a blog and an attitude. and a cold brew coffee to my dome.