Tip The Writer

Keegan Roembke


Part I: Watcher

Could seven and seven equal eleven? In un-essence. Dig down to the gist. Get it honey. Leave it to the neon lights to make storefronts bright. Archaic leftover Americana. Blacsand left over. When the relics of our past were washed away by water. This confounding blaccest sand came to finish the erosion. Process. Genesis Part II. Exodus Part II. Genexodus Part I. Curtains fell down and covered the window light. Eyes on a screen, protected by blue, feeling alright. Don’t have a goal? Then type it. Don’t have a purpose? Then write it. Life and all that other shit. Is never black and white. Blac. Grey blue hazy. Double-triple-infinitely-edged. We are all each other’s glue. Hold yourself together. Hold someone else together. Let yourself hold each other together. Wash it all away and start again. Genexodus Part II.

They come to skew. To manipulate. 2048 doesn’t know Orwell. It’s our job to tell the future. AI is the blade but it’s also the suture. We confront the sea and stare at it. Raising our staff. We plant it down. Onto the ground. The waters split. The sand below: Black.

Part II: Watched

My face erupts through the surface. Sand in my eyes. Refracted light. Warmish cool colors. Stars in my eyes. They see my eyes, I don’t see theirs. Treading water through the atmosphere. America, I remember. Crying out to something. Anything. Greater. It must be Brother. I am covered, smothered. NO. All damn day all I hear is go go go. They will lead me somewhere. black dark cozy. That’s not. What they say. But – that is surely what I hear. Tingling through the meat of my finger bones. Brought to a new form of life. Back raised upright. Stiff like a stretcher. Eyes wide open staring into the ether. Eyes so wide, open, why so hot this weather. Above water. There it is, do you see it? The guiding hand I longed for. What is this watchful eye? I’ve never had a Brother. I’ve never had a Brother. So big, so powerful. Awe-inspiring goodness. Total understanding built into the fabric of our substance of our t-shirts. What happened prior —to 2048?
The future is now. The future is right now. The future is brighter than a million lightning bugs. The future is at this very moment. You’ve got to own it. Booming from the speakers: YOU’VE GOT TO OWN IT. YOU’VE GOT TO OWN IT. YOU’VE GOT TO OWN IT. GET IT HONEY! That thing they call time must have been such a bother, I think. The present stretches farther and farther and farther.