This morning, lies became real simply by their telling. This morning, the sunrise lost its lustre. This morning, I swore off progress for the millionth time and redoubled my promise to break the world we've created. Tomorrow, When you wake and your fingers move instinctively for the drama that drips your dopamine for the vacuous noise that fills your emptiness for the words "helicopter" and "immigrant" and "congress" for gapless droning news speak for the chainmail threadbare doom weave for that sweet sick vocal tremor that murmurs of apocalypse for the false stories that began the ecocide for the "impartial" "truth," Don't. Tomorrow, In the space between sleep and movement In your warm nest So achingly close to the glowing screen at your bedside Instead of clicking, think how bears climb trees, wonder about moose legs moving through deep snow imagine the blood of aspen trees retreating way inside and glowing eastern pink splashing black sky and the way the full moon sometimes keeps you up. Indulge your creative yearning Plan a revolution that includes but is not limited to a planet rewilded satellite dishes repurposed to raised bed gardens words as truth-bringers and tear filled blinking at the finally remembered immensity.
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