Call for Nonfiction

Send me your manifestos, credos and declarations of dependence. Your Five Year Plans and New Economic Policies. Send me your hypergraphics, counterfeits and forgeries, your bold plagiarisms and rewritten history books. Send me your journals from jail, your diaries from prison and letters from hell. Your Potemkin Villages and mad ravings from St. Helena. Send me transcriptions of your dreams, confessions of murder and scatological stories. Send me your legislation and neologistic jargons, your Kantian antinomies and theories of everything. Your topologies and strange geometries, your violations of the principle of non-contradiction. Equations of equality, and your mathematics of mindfuck. Send me form without function, function with no form. Send me your translations of tomes, your tractatus of theorems.  Your revelations from god and hieroglyphics. Send me your most titillating tautologies, conspiracy theories and bankrupt ideologies. Your most pornographic prayers. Send me the code on the bathroom wall that you cracked, the vandalizations of verses, your

ululations for Utopia. Send me your one man protests, your proposals for peace and declarations of war, your drafted blueprints for the Anti-City, your communications with extra-terrestrials. Send me your recipes for disaster and delicious vegan desserts. Send me your dead languages and Rosetta Stones, your scrolls from the dead seas of the earth. Send me your suicide notes, send me your DNA code. Send me your scientific discoveries of new elements and never before seen species from tropical jungles. Your alternative histories and cryptographic curses. Send me your incurable writer’s block straight from the scriptorium. Your abandoned libraries. Cave paintings and napkin doodles, your asemic avant-garde booshit. Send me that brilliant essay you wrote in elementary school. Your illiterate, metaphysical musings and musical scores. Your post-literature. Blow some smoke up my ass, people.

-Amos Wright