Perhaps the best work scrambles genre and rides strange lines that might swerve at any moment.
Today’s headlines featured phrases about “demon sperm” and “the umbrella man” because we’ve slipped into a psychedelic hell.
I remember speeding across a blank Oklahoma plain dotted with pump jacks and cattle pens.
During commercial breaks, I sang along to radio jingles for machines that control your brainwaves while you sleep.
People are edgy, their dreams infected with anxiety if they can sleep at all.
Men with amplifiers delivered gnostic interpretations of the facial expressions of various health officials.
Each headline is more disorienting than the last, and these pandemic days are breeding baroque conspiracies.
