Some Words for New Years

I don't normally scrawl out doggerel, but when I do...

A meditator posted their glam shot.

Just right, poised between sun and shade,

cut in half by a line made with a samurai sword,

Toshiro Mifune.

Life is short on substack, and the attention fleeting.

One more dopamine high,

Try licking the toad, someone says.

Occult conspiracies fill the feeds.

We are so awfully fucking sick of DJT

and his bruised ego and tiny hands.

It’s new years, but the algo has no clue.

Dead machines preying on the living,

“I’ll be back” Arnold snarled over the years,

gatling gun in hand, raybans,

gleaming metal under skin.

One tragedy after another,

one conspiracy after another.

Nothing prepared us for this new world.

And in America no one under 30 knows how to use rotary phone.

Someone once said first thought, best thought,

but there are no more thoughts any more—

content, feeds, rage, and desire—

It’s 2026 in somone’s calendar,

it’s not even new years yet in someone else’s.

Long after we die, the algo will digest our words, spit them out

in a dead world, with poison wind whistling through dead trees

towering over glistening waves of a dead ocean

under a sun that once gave life.