Instructions For Fabricating Horoscopes In The Event Of The Author’s Disappearance

Is there a word or phrase that is currently sloughing off glowing sheaves of radioactivity? Think about this word. Describe a remote and foreign landscape. Night is coming on soon. Address the reader directly. The reader is always alone. Employ an allusion or quotation stolen from general esoterica. Do not pander to the reader; the reader owns and uses a dictionary. Everything here will be seamlessly weaved into a textile or fabric strung among the heavy rotation of the thirteen illuminating and coordinate signs of the monoculture. In this sense it is the airport that moves and not the jet-plane. Less abstract semiotic structures can be referenced often by simply describing the ruins of some human edifice in the landscape: vacant cities, bunkers, collapsed churches, roads. This is a work that anticipates a total computational comprehension; the advent of the prescient-omniscient machine that speaks the human. Here readability is primary to sense. Remember the genre is Speculative Non-Fiction and is relatively uncharted territory. Do not let the reader rest. The reader must not rest. Never let the reader rest.

 


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WHAT YOUR WEEK HAS IN STORE is a weekly (-ish) horoscope by Forest Lewis. If you’d like to receive email alerts—and that’s all you’ll get, a short email—saying the new one’s up, sign up here:


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