“Deal of the Week” is an updated take on the horoscope column. Bad advice, worse poetry, every Monday.
Building a scene in which you are the main character within a universe of infinite points that swirl about you as if the matrix came to life, you attempt to organize these thoughts into something readable or at least unalarming, unassuming. Crossing your eyes when confronted with the grid of flashing data before you, you swim through leather air from heavy depressants, soft and spiky like old television static to numb your brain while it gently eats itself to death. The veil is begging for your eyelids, begging you to fight or fly by some miracle, away with some icewater savior to drink coffee, make decisions, quickly.