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We are all stars.

Some of us are circling the drain.



You are correct

to kill your witches.



A curse is a kind of constellation.



My parents were the weather satellite

and the kinetic kill vehicle




A kinetic kill vehicle is a missile with no explosive charge.

A constellation is a pattern named for a myth.


A kinetic kill vehicle

is a sharp stone tethered to a violent hearth.


A constellation

is a notional figure composed of bodies

unthinkably distant from one another

and, consequently,

visible only from a single point in space.


Which is to say –

eyes are the invisible part of every constellation.



This is easily proven since

a) the constellation was not there until it was noticed and
b) no one has ever seen their own eyes.


A constellation

is a pattern named for a myth.



It is something that does not exist named for something that is not possible.



The constellation, then, is the most human thing in or out of the world.



I believe that the constellation should be on the human coat of arms.


And that when you people muster to repel
invading robots of alien origin,
you should have an asterism on your flag,
which should be as black as space.


And that the baby should be tattooed with its birth sign.



I believe there was never a season that needed to be named.


And that your problem is not chaos but order – unless you are vigilant, everything dissolves into patterns.


A constellation without myth is a conspiracy.

Every witch is burned on a violent hearth for the sake of the sparks.



A burning witch is a constellation engine: the pyre is an attempt to force perception itself into view. It is a good story gone bad.



The witch is never burned for the curse, only for the spectacle.



I know this because I have constellated.


You are burning the wrong witches.



Ritual is the science of reverse-engineering narrative for the sake of desirable patterns.



A story, like a constellation and a curse, can only exist if you’re in it.



Every good story is a successful spell cast to generate sense. You will never take the fire out of a curse by calling it ‘a tale’. You must forget your mother tongue to escape it. Nationalism is a malignant constellation. It is impossible to exceed the escape velocity of language. You will never outpace the kinetic kill vehicle of myth. You are a good story gone bad.

You are always burning the wrong witches.

While you are waiting in the witch hole to be burned for the sparks, if they try it, in the event of that emergency, do this:

On a square of earth, paper or human skin, in the sight of other humans, draw a constellation and say these words:

You can't rain fire on fire.
Slope off:
We’re the sun.


Now listen as I perform for you the myth of the junk who flew too near the earth:

Based on material commissioned for / tweeting as @FengyunAdrift


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