How To Sext Death and Other Lurid Text Messages, by Shane Jesse Christmass (Illustrated by ea hyde)

How To Sext Death and Other Lurid Text Messages, by Shane Jesse Christmass (Illustrated by ea hyde)

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This chapbook was written somewhere. The wind hurries. All wind-shrift, capillary-red, all shot with adventuring. I slept in Teardrop Park. Parts of the chapbook were assembled there. Alluvial deposits remain in the East River. A tabloid magazine from on North Brother Island. The current and breathing deceased are piss-potted and bedpan strapped to life machines out on College Point. Star-faring mutants. A diagnosis.

I am afraid of bombs, the prodigious drone. This chapbook was written in a camp in the remains of Riverside Hospital. Paranoia, UFO conspiracies, mnemophobia, the caveman of grey and orange. I remember a peasant commune, the Space City, a secret theatre, psychic work, rain and lightning frames.

Nostalgia for unborn perfections. Cut throats hang over a different mask of language, sheer Wilmington Street. Professional disappointment. A blur. Chjapbook. Word. B&W drawings. That sort of thing. A televangelist in the taxi rank. Alpha-wave generation. A carcinogenic reality-warping device. Butter cake. Steel rods.