There is little difference between language and magic, writers and wizards. If you can pin a cloud to your beard you can achieve a symmetry like neon. The lake won’t knot if smuggled through a feathered clock. There are numerous flavors of annihilation but one is this: the backflip of tendrils into a flaming spool, a camel’s wet dream of desert or the soft prickle of paradise in a glass cactus. Reality is inherently boring. Surrealism, a badge of bulbs pinching the neck of a swan coughing quarters. Tomorrow is tinfoil so bury oblivion in your shins. Consult your chin binging cinnamon, or the lurid head wound bleeding bright lactic equations. Always count your teeth in the square root of ketchup. Meanwhile, while hills are hiccupping outside your door horny gargoyles are gathering, yodeling and sneezing Saturn. Seahorses made of osmosis should be avoided so make your steed of noble jellyfish and scarecrow astronomies. Inhale all tunnels containing Cairo. Make your hat a rainbow wolf and blowtorch eternity. Ingest a bloated paradox through the remainder of why. You can comb the sea certainly but you can’t muzzle sunset while trapped inside the rain.
Matthew is a very serious writer of literary literature
–Art by Denis Olivier