Someone heard the explosionor maybe it was the sky cracking its own skull open.The air twitches.The ground gnaws.Everything vibrates like a nerve that refuses anesthesia. The glass on the floor is no longer glass.It is a swarm of mouths,crooked, trembling,chewing...

(a long, mischievous, tea‑steeped fungal comedy) At precisely five o’clock,when humanity pretends it is refined,the cordyceps wakes inside the teapotstretching its spores like velvet curtainsin a Victorian house that should have collapsedsomewhere around 1892. It yawns.It crackles.It makes that unmistakable fungal...