A is the start, Z is the end. A is the sigil of revolution Z the signal of sleep. We need not end our journey in a dreamland where we are not the me, but aspire to C E, meet equality. By that I do not mean equal rights but rather the one right, to say a righteous no. Because A resists first and foremost, like an atheist western Netti Netti, wrestling away easy, go with the flow signifiers. 

Furthermore the anarchy of my A is a quiet one, internal even. To me it says that I acknowledge trauma, and rather than be gripped and screwed by it, I use trauma as a guiding light to search for new community marked T as much as I, and arise like the Phoenix sun to view anew my possibilities. 

For one thing, I spy with my subject petite i that epistontology is a premise stating there is no out-there without or separate from a yes in-here. Beyond this it points to the notion of epiphenomenology. Within this is not merely a suggestion of the seemingly infinite infantile regressive state of epiepistemology, wherein the many ad men and their latest model of woman, like all media, dictate our reality the same way our parents did when they believed themselves to be rescuing us from being mute fish in stormy tearfall waters. Rather, epiphen is a confession, the admitting of introjectory existence through which we walked the stormy seas with cane and crutch and even stilts, by which I mean being romcom addled, porno battled, atrociously exhibitionist inside a smart phone whose collective cathexis of genius far surpasses our individual faculties, playing our sensibilities like silly phony xylophones. In epiphen we let objects control the subject, an upside down Maslow hierarchy, spinning us like a dromospheric accelerationist dreidel. 

But now we say nay, hey, I’m A, just subject grand A, and need not add any furtherance, utterance, otherness, fb.com-rom-anti-sizing complications, mistaking bugs for features like selfie star creature. A comes before all to say no, no longer will one be a cellphone, a cell, a body shell, a gender or a sex. We can live in the empty places in this lie, and you can find us at the grayscale, in grey matter, about that graygrey area around a barred phallus. For the aze are not merely a lone A, left naked and alone in a world never wished to be born, but the A