UN
HYPHEN
ATE
-
ME
POST: 0001
FICTION
10-06-02021
The hyphen: my cure-all. My over-the-counter remedy for any contradiction. All the world’s opposites are in an open-relationship.
The cars are zero-emission. Fast-Fashion is Fair-Trade and digital shopping is sanctioned self-care. Delivery is always 2-days. The donuts are gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, and guilt-free. My guilt has always been free, but I’m happy to be free of it. It’s been banished with carbon-offsets, non-GMO certification, market-based philanthropy, and my 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮 𝓳𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓵.
The hyphen caressed the delayed-onset soreness between misfortune and contentment. It alchemized my gestures into actions—my actions into catharsis.
░F▒A▓D█E . . .
to last week. Woosh. I’m driving through black smoke clouds, buzzed &fuzzed off of 3 THC-infused seltzers and I feel calm. This smoke was not my disaster. It’s a roadside tent-city cook-fire gone awry—over-fueled by polyester, polystyrene, and drought-dried brush. Blazing black, as the houseless lose their homes, or the homeless lose their houses, or unhoused become more unhoused. I want to use the socially-sanctioned variant of compassionate taxonomy. 10 minutes later I’m home and I’m high and I’m tapping 【ＧＩＶＥ】 on the $5 tier button. I’m crowd-funding solutions. A high-tech attempt to 3D-print one-room plastic dwelling coated in fire-retardant.
𝓖𝓮𝓮-𝔀𝓱𝓲𝔃 . . .
I could use a vacation, but I can only afford a stay-cation. I might be able to swing a working-vacay. My project manager is open to remote-work (provided I ping him 2x daily). He is a self-described conscious-capitalist and is open to alternative management styles. He gave me some stress relief tips (cryo-therapy, qi-gong, and micro-dosing). When I asked which was cheapest, he said I should dollar-cost average several crypto-currencies and I wouldn’t have to worry about it. In 3-to-6 years, I’d be rich. He mentioned boot-straps, libertarianism, and recommended a book by the Buddhist monk, Thich Nhất Hạnh. I supported local-business with the last of my stimulus-check to buy a copy of 𝒜 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐸𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽. I need more loving-kindness. I need more non-duality, like the hyphen.The hyphen keeps telling me I’m alone-together with someone I don’t see anymore. It’s saying that the anti-vaxxers caused the winter-spike. It calls hard times the new-normal. It’s wildfire season and the hyphen is announcing that my lungs are breathing mega-clouds of harmful particulates. I bought a HEPA air-filter and a 40 pack of Hello Kitty N-95s (2-day delivery). The ‘zon sent me Angry Birds by mistake. The sky is orange, the sun is an angry red dot, and I’m logging on for the company mandatory Zoom-Cocktail Hour. I’m on mute.
O this hyphen is my reality-reviser. It provides life-hacks and true game-changers. I’m working smarter-not-harder. I consume my entertainment ready-cut into micro slices at 2X audio speed. I’m ready to take it at all face-value, but my bi-weekly micro-dose might have been macro. I’m anxious, I’m vibe-checking.
Because the hyphen labeled my single mom ‘non-working’—she worked as hard as she could. It said peaceful-protest accomplished something, but I’m Reddit scrolling tear-gas remedies. It claimed that these were farm-fresh raisins, not dried-out grapes. It said this was all non-addictive.
It married all the adversaries at shot-gun weddings. Prima-nocta, clean-coal, progressive-politics, risk-reduction, climate-neutral, labor-parties, gummi-vitamins. It reconciled irreconcilables. It fried my nuance neurons with adult nursery rhymes. It tells me to stay-home, to mask-up, shop-local, and eat-clean, but remember to treat-my-self. I need some more clarity. I can’t tell the difference between a treat and a toxin—an ego-death and my death-drive. I’m tired-and-wired, suicidal-ideation, science-based, open-source, open-secret, identity-politics, liberal-democracy, post-truth, late-capitalism, cross-eyed, empty-eyed.
I’m crying again, but my tears are not hyphenated. They are not tears of self-care or cathartic-release. They are not a symptom of poor AQI. They are just tears—just tears, okay? I don’t want to be solution-minded right now. I’ll might be laughing later. I want it to just be laughter, just laughter. Please don’t absorb my sadness and feed me a market-based cure. I don’t want to see an ad for ketamine therapy or a weighted blanket. I don’t care it come with a free eye mask.
I need for nothing but authenticity. I just want to howl and cry and scream and fight and joy and poem and lick and forest and run and trip and river and ride and spoon and love and make love and risk and grieve.
I don’t want hyphens; I want an infinity ♾ a lemniscate ♾