1.

Embrace this microlife of yours. Winter has finally lifted its embargo on verve and fun.
And the sun has freed us from our death circuits. Snapped like a motherboard over a
skinny knee. We’re out of our domiciled existence and mingling again. And what we
thought was just a phantom pregnancy has turned out to be all too real. Fragrances
long forgotten will burn the nostrils. A Jugendstil frau. A Jugendstil frau waves. A
Jugendstil frau waves her soft wand over this scene, and we are suddenly awash in
fragrance. “Historic rates of vaping” they are calling it, and it is just the first fiscal
quarter! “There is much to be learned from this data set. There is much to be gleaned
here.” One thing is for sure – domesticity is on the chopping block. Digital platforms
replete with echoes. A play performed to an empty house. Every step in the fade is
beautiful. The user testing is in. The personas taped to the wall flutter in the breeze.
Scores of misogynists are lined up beneath the cherry trees for the culling. All boner
pills & bone broth are priced to move. Finely calibrated machines have marked you as a
power user. JUUL pods litter the streets at dusk. Streaming is dreaming. We’ve finally
found our groove and the elation is real. Sundowning as a guiding framework. Bulbous
faces swim up from the gloom animated and spooked. Familiarity is a breeding tactic.
Suddenly we are awash in fragrance, and it all starts coming back to us. The open pit is
steaming with body heat. We lay phablets with the browser history of loved ones along
the rim. GhostBots™ haunt this place. Adjudicate yourself. You gotta love this microlife
of yours. Every step in the fade is beautiful.

2.

Let’s gush positive for a change. Take charge of this charm offensive and start glad-
handing with the best of them. The ballroom is filled with ballooning egos and sharp
teeth. From the window a line is forming beneath the fuchsia of the cherry trees.
Fragrances long forgotten will burn the nostrils. Petabytes of grief. The personas flutter
in the breeze. Several elderly statesmen in attendance. Blood boys in tow. IV-leashed.
They make the rounds. They get around. Glad-handing with the best of them. “Your
extrajudicial extradition has been expediated.” Dark patterns are forming against your
will. Your luck ambassador waves gleefully from across the room. He’s here to soften
your mind. A state of continuous productivity is desirable. “What an extraordinary
rendition,” they marvel. Champagne towers golden. “You might like to know that you’re
exempt from your extrajudicial extradition.” “Pardon, me?!” Champagne towers golden.
watermelon vape clouds Hors d’oeuvres make the rounds. Canapés. From the open
windows instructive bull-horning can be heard. Starlings screech at sundown. The
culling begins and the fragrance burns the nostrils. “Gotta come up with a suitable
ingestion framework.”

3.

The furries are streaking again. The blvds are choked with dander. This is the choicest
of choice architecture. Mood disorders pegged to a wildly fluctuating index. They say,
honor killings are back on the menu – whether we like it or not. It pangs my pericardium
to hear this. The personas taped to the wall flutter in the breeze. The hard-pressed need
a win. Valid crash-outs will now be enshrined in the law. Glazin’ this soiree like a boss.
The air is agitated with influencers and bad actors. People slicking their hair back
looking to make a name for themselves. The air is cloudy, milky-white with lassitude
.Epic amounts of screen time. Streaming is dreaming. “Get your fursonas here! Fur-so-
NAs! Fur-so-NAs here!” Out here? Late at night? Exhausted citizens line up. Over by
the old castle wall. They take turns running, throwing themselves against the electric
fence. They do it over and over and over. in a circle now, clapping, chanting “Pop &
Lock! Pop & Lock!” Faces smashed up against the fence. Seared hexagons. My face is
falling. My face has fallen – I can’t get up. My face has fallen – I can’t look up.