The 21st century is ending early, they declared.
The Philosopher of Sex and the Philosopher of Ice Cream
ran away together.  They got farther than anyone expected.
Not even the sun gets to do what it wants.
The impudence of designation, the ascendancy of kitsch.
I don't care to read your cruci-fiction.
What is wanted is not a delicate touch,
but a careful one, imbued with both force and restraint.
Not the tyrant's toiletmusings.
Obey only the instinct to oppose;
oppose only the instinct to obey.
What would an error in reality look like?
We should be less interested in counting past missteps
than in calculating future corrections.