This text is part of the b2o: an online journal special issue “EXOCRITICISM”, edited by Arne De Boever and Frédéric Neyrat.
Images (l-r): Syndiffeonesis an other Self-Help Advice 1 – Ferdinand Altenburg, 2025; Syndiffeonesis an other Self-Help Advice 2 – Ferdinand Altenburg, 2025
Presences Stir to Sarah Riggs
Andrew Levy
We weren’t close enough to one another to know one another. There was much implied
but left patiently latent, and unclear. Meant for someone else.
The common thread seems to be the idea that you can survive from hate alone.
No one is accountable. A voice that is no longer of the body but of a momentous atmosphere.
Singular things, influencer pipeline in action.
Consider the source.
Yours is broken.
Young people are homeless. Everywhere.
Nothing but for some future poet who finds a line or a sentence evocative of and relatable.
A dictatorship built by American business.
Real-world anchovies. A world beyond our grasp and comprehension.
Lying problems will occur.
“This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife.”
How much bigotry can you engage in?
If you’re a voter, what do you do with that? Make more of what’s yours?
Getting older happens.
Sometimes, you just need a moment. A new era.
I’m not an alien.
My first line of defense.
Editing.
To and from anywhere.
You can’t defend yourself against this court. Without a price tag,
you’re labelled “divisive.”
There is nothing preservationist about a colossal commercial venture
that would threaten wildlife and groundwater.
The soul of America? The lines are blurred. It will become
like everywhere else.
In masks, a giant Fuck-you to your neighbors.
A made-for-TV chaos.
Elk migration routes, abducted.
Outdoor dining an apparent acquittal, a celebrity cruise, plus the shape of your lips.
This is who we are.
Attracted to accused men.
Insider info. A royal flush in an airless atmosphere.
A dog howling in the courtyard.
Another dicey decision.
That’s where you can make your money. You’ve done terrible harm to your case.
Low stakes in sorrow.
The distraction, some kind of smoke bomb, maybe not.
The life you have left to live?
Narrowing tunnels of transparent longer-lasting relief. Put the pain away.
The most perfect piece of self-writing code.
One, two, three. (Please do not
attribute this to me.) It’s that easy. The metropolis disintegrates.
It doesn’t have to.
“I thought the law was accessible to everyone.”
Land targets.
Energy.
A silent fall, overnight’s broad framework hinges links and attachments embedded.
30%.
20% mock dissent
with AI sewage. Deferrals on critical flogging.
Mapping the drift
nothing is concrete and permanent – artificial pitches save the opening.
Tombstones grind things down. She ridiculed opponents
as “terrorists.”
Civility is so extraordinary.
Cafes fall in abstraction, dictatorship and mortal wounds. I had to choose between
gas in my car and grass in my pipe.
No rhyme or reason,
actually, truly, exactly, or precisely; genuinely, completely, or verbatim. A sweet sort of slumber,
by temperance or deception. The city
amplified. Sunday morning, another new worry, a war on boats
another gentle disinfectant.
“They’re going to be like dead.”
October 26, 2025