Kell Connor

Sim City

Boredom and the bourgeoisie share a birthday but celebrate separately. Boredom reformats the body in accordance with an outmoded model of modernity, and the bourgeoisie slide between clean sheets in an ever-expanding brothel. The model of the modern is bored out of her mind and mine both. Our shared trajectory is toward the self checkout lane in the megastore. The new nostalgia is so much more potent than it was before. Boredom and the bourgeoisie rent connected rooms on every floor of every hotel. The model of the modern slips into something more comfortable, a loose and shimmering circle of hell.

The Archive as Landfill

Empty out the referent. For my first false obelisk, I present to you the Luxor Las Vegas. The folly of our century is the continued insistence that form follow function. The relationship between form and function has eroded, corroded, corrupted files. The floppy disk, Popeye in this environment of great wealth. I did not sign up for this insufficient ascension into language. My symptoms are simple: wiping out inside the hard drive, crying, puking, incontinent data stream. Our symptoms become more streamlined over time. That’s progress. That’s good design. Architecture seems barely relevant when I look at the sunset with this weird feeling of reverence. Ready us for endless parking lots. The deferral is always pressing us against something else. I emptied out the archive and at the bottom was a layer of hardened gesture, the last vestige of the sign of the body.

Kell Connor lives in Nebraska. Recent work has appeared in Wyvern Lit, The Journal, and The Destroyer.