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morning after.

get dressed.

in the kitchen. stare down the grey trees at the bottom of the hill.

little sleep. broken shuffling. ambivalent shock.

my work shoes on. in my car

I drive. I think about us.

about a study from Princeton: America is an oligarchy.

when hasn’t this been true?

what happened?

we lost.

America is dead.

11 9 2016.

in the office people panic about their jobs.

people call. panic about their healthcare.

executives send out a communication of reassurance.

no one knows.

I smile and congratulate the faithful and faithless.

I tumble through their prism of white light losing

sight of my own spine but oh their teeth are raw stunning.

I sit in my office with the lights off.

so this is fascism huh? the undying, wretched face of the obliterated

released from the heart of this grotesque machine.

I suppose we are due.

Blue Lives Matter
White Genocide

bloodied brown and black

gasps from the gutter.

that’s how it must look huh?

through the shimmering light of blue-eyed victory

the uncertain march toward national self-immolation.

the Fourth Reich has and will always be self-sustaining

like greed. envy. horror.

like some bloated failure of a man becoming President

while our institutions bow into their graves with no words spoken and

no love lost.

The Great Experiment is shuttered.

this lab is quarantined.

the core of America is founded on the defense and ascension of the weak.

Hollywood is built on biblical illusions of the underdog.

like the tech industry.

like the resurgent plague of male chauvinism.

power processes and mirrors the weak to shroud an indifferent system with false morality.

this is the final truth.

I think about games in the aftermath.

what devours this void besides escapism?

I trudge through FFXV and its World of Ruin laughing.

I glide into the inorganic decay of Abzu.

I cry in the afternoon dark alone in my living room.

how many universes have I kissed?

how many windows transform into mirrors under the right kind of light?

I lean back in my chair.

I keep a sealed copy of Rez on my desk.

the dream of the virtual body.

the boundlessness of digital space.

2014: GamerGate.

2016: the founder of modern VR caught bankrolling alt-right trolls.

2017: fashwave enters mainstream awareness.

in between: unironic talk of Muslim internment camps.

the American Dream.

I hold my infant daughters close now.

I worry about their world.

it should have been better than this.

we should have been better than this.

we should have been the actual execution of our mythological assumptions.

 

now all we are – a choice:

fight or burn quietly.

become a memory or

vanish into forgotten dust twisting in the light of nightmares.

 

 

 

 

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