while the ink is not yet dry.

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Galactic Bludgeon

I | Impulse & Trespass

The corridor clamps shut;
retch swells across spacetime,
fetid shock-crests ricochet
into my sinus vaults.
Star-charts drown in bile.
Blind astronomers sip
grammar flayed from synapses—
extension arriving as wound.

〈Enhance → Sense-Ratio Rift〉

II | Hex on the Village

McLuhan, you wired the village to a single ember,
turned every cinder retina, every whisper nova—
then warned it would flare tribal knives,
not neighborly grace. 
Your cool media blurred us into doze;
your hot media branded us with raw edge;
both melt to the same white heat
where nerves alone are legal tender.

〈Obsolesce → Acoustic Commons〉

III | Autopsy of a Tetrad

Steel tray, four twitching quadrants—
enhance · obsolesce · retrieve · reverse. 
Printed bone, electric cartilage, orbital marrow
weep contradictory plasma.
Theory slumps into carrion;
I taste the ferric grief,
feel pattern-hunger butcher living noise.

〈Retrieve → Ancestral Drumlines〉

IV | Chronograph Knuckle

I sheathe my fists in ticking galaxies,
slingshot down a spiral arm,
strike the epoch before the epoch.
Lens-glass detonates—
silica rain, phosphor keening,
each pixel a splinter
lodged in the womb of light.

V | Debris-Midwife (Total Implosion)

Ruin froths into first cries.
Language acid boils; from its vapor
a proto-nebula bulges,
swollen with futures our models miscarried.
There is no silence—
only a sub-hertz pulse of possible worlds
throbbing beneath a scabbed horizon.

〈Reverse → Inside-Out Infinite〉

VI | Reckoning

Repent, McLuhan—
not for error, but for precision
that crib-sheeted the infinite
and left wonder no room to sprawl.
I keep hammering, not to erase you
but to crack the seal your brilliance cast,
let unmeasured dark seep back into the circuit.

VII | Post-Human Weave

Watch the galaxy inhale again:
data-veins branch like capillaries,
old constellations moult their names.
Extension folds to skin,
skin dissolves to cosmos—
a porous hush wide enough
for hybrid breaths to rehearse
new grammars of touch.
Every limb, every lens scarred—
yet flesh, code, and echo
knit into a breathing loom,
fluttering instead of burning.