jp thorn

election day, just another day, we’re all on fire anyway

after tristan richards & david epstein

nov. 2024 arrived like the creation of a sex robot from various sci-fi films: weird science, ex machina, westworld—ironically where most days my fate is resigned to.
western society, western superiority, western ideology– manufactured for pleasure but is it pleasing when greed usurps resources from beneath our actual feet?
coal, oil, water– hell! there are thirty periodic elements assembled into your iphone & monickers of rare-earth cached throughout although a misnomer; there’s no scarcity– just a designation for analogous silvery, soft metals, (kinda like glitter) one even named after the greek word for twin.
geology is a love-language, ferrying my childhood rock collection to each new state i christen.
sometimes, i get too stoned & ponder my long-lost adjacent sibling sparkling just below the surface, unsure because my adoptive rabbit hole embanks itself within a blind spot; a 23&me purchased two months ago hasn’t shifted an inch from where it rests calmly sealed beneath my nightstand, unable to wrest justice from my life, unsure answers i’m scouting, wondering if some stones are best left unturned.