The wormhole from which the 2016 election emerged has left a scar, like the slime of a slugs trail across reality. The universe looks for equilibrium. From the same worm hole are other possibilities.
Stand here with me. On the edge of the Abyss. Take my hand. Let us go deep into the scar and mine the possibilities. Dive deep into the puss-filled possibilities. Eat away the disease. Transform it through our bodies. Formidable gut bacteria, eating away the filth. Bedrock of fresh clean meat. Unsullied. Fecund with integrity. And from here, take our needles and pierce. Bleed. Sew. Grow. Bring two to one. Becoming one. A fresh line across your face, or thigh or belly. And society, history - our possible futures.
Flesh remains. It grows. Fills the trauma gap. The scar, a map of the journey, remains. We remain.
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