By Alex Howe
Featured Image: Mun by Sam Warren
–for Catya McMullen
Beauty rears its ugly head – Assassins
You can be non-suicidal and less than jazzed about being here, two
Juuls at once like a pacifist dragon or the mild Dionysus of bad
ideas. Skip the Trix rabbit’s abjection: gift yourself the gift of
desperation, the terrible utility of popcorn for breakfast. “Whatever
you find uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium becomes its
signature, cherished and emulated as soon as it can be avoided”
explains Brian Eno bombing by on rollerblades into the flip phone
flipping shut into his fanny pack. The hotel’s Mahogany Hall
blooms two hundred vape plumes the moment the emcee mentions
prohibition on same. These teen alcoholics don’t drink, they bong
Monster, fuck senseless, talk about drinking. Pray to doorknobs.
Play Mafia. Splash the ping-pong ball into the cup of Red Bull.
Drop the sick beat. Crack your glow stick.
Alex Howe writes poetry and regular sentences. He co-founded Blunderbuss and has been previously published in The Journal, where he was nominated for Best New Poets. Bug him via alexanderhowe.com and probably call your mom.