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	1.	𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 01:06
	2.	“𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝.” 03:17
	3.	4 strykers strung out black against a sunrise. 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐝. 02:06
	4.	𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐥: 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 06:38
	5.	𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 02:08
	6.	𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲. 01:05
	7.	𝕭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐬. 𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐬 rises 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧. 02:01
	8.	𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝. 00:43
	9.	Half a century later, the past next-door sees them no longer bending towards anything. News items reach a prolonged, flat culmination. Historical headway and the whole idea slowly flanked by skeletons. 01:45
	10.	𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐚𝐦. 𝐀 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬. 00:35
	11.	𝐎𝐝𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐛 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐳𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 02:15
	12.	🛐 (prayer) 00:36
	13.	𝐂𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐞. 02:11
	14.	𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬, “𝐎𝐡 𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐱, 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡.” 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐱 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬. 02:51
	15.	𝐀 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩, 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐚. M𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. 03:18
	16.	𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐢 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐦 (𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐀𝐦 𝐈?) 19:12
	17.	𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐞. 𝐖𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐚𝐤; 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. 01:40

about

☻ “Hardy har har…” ☻ Canned laughter emerges through SINCGARS radio static , "Price is Right" theme music. "The desert is wrong?!” I smirk and cackle through tears, easing back onto a blistered sofa. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥. Ｔｈｅｙ 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐬.

Clouds thicken and curdle, “Do you want to dry hump me, captain? Yes? Come on down. Welcome to fuckedville, where you can fuck anything you want and be fucked any day of the week. I'm your host, Bree Rivers.”

Some hideous draft wafts in from a shattered floor-to-ceiling window in which gigantic shapes and shadows gleam. To the south I see a village on fire. Scavengers thrash and shrink behind the encroachment of flames.

There’s no telling what carnal fun we’ll get ourselves into. The soar of a once killjoyed switchblade swooshes and slams to a kicky.

A casualty’s pulped extremities, lurching and alive with cavalry ragtime: “This is me dry humping a face into the annals of history.” The word of the lord.

░PHANTOM-23░

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released April 29, 2019

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PHAṅTom ᴀᴄᴄᴇSS ｈａｚｅ Friday Harbor, Washington

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“I am the uncontrollable whimper. Pulp me.”

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