wilde
we are at war. children, artists, philosophers and the intelligentia are undertaking nuclear bunker construction workshops. duct tape has sold out down at the local general. everyone is sealing their windows. disable the capitalist machine by cutting the postal lines and shutting the shops. snow the village in with a productive local exchange into a deathly quiet. if the myth wants blood it will have it. i gaze up out at the world through my window every day and see chilly chilly sunsets. i won't be seeing red velvet hung.