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if I don't self immolate will I ever be understood?
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Certain in the wisdom in the destruction of everything, God is a teenager in love. With needles. With watching the Universe through the peephole of a wild-eyed boy. With a pair of heartbreaking wings and voice gloved in cold sweat and mercury tenderness. God stands by the bed holding out their shaking panic, secretly burning a double millennia old promise to be unseen and unheard: in remission and in recovery. In their follow up to every thing andrw fx meditates with agonizing fear, suicide, disassociation, discomfort, closure, SSRI-induced half-realities, sycophantic blood cults, augury, ego ...
Certain in the wisdom in the destruction of everything, God is a teenager in love. With needles. With watching the Universe through the peephole of a wild-eyed boy. With a pair of heartbreaking wings and voice gloved in cold sweat and mercury tenderness. God stands by the bed holding out their shaking panic, secretly burning a double millennia old promise to be unseen and unheard: in remission and in recovery. In their follow up to every thing andrw fx meditates with agonizing fear, suicide, disassociation, discomfort, closure, SSRI-induced half-realities, sycophantic blood cults, augury, ego death, heartache, queerness, and deep platonic love. These 13 stories are a funeral parade of intense emotion led by a cast of award-winning absentee gods, feral cats, vulcans, mutant chicken bois, aliens, dead birds, dust particles, humanoids, and Harold Ramis. If I don't self immolate will I ever be understood? grapples with the probity of reality and washes in the waters of the totally absurd.