Getting hired on the spot is divine. It feels like a shortcut to catharsis. It feels like a cure. I’m doing the work spiritually and professionally. I am self-actualizing and self-optimizing. I am officializing and legitimizing. I am personalizing and professionalizing. I am manifesting destiny. I am Destiny’s Inner Child. I am an innie and and an outie in insufficient funds and in immaterialism. In autism and in nepotism. In menstruation and in prostration. In simulacrum and in Similac. In assimilation and in the simulation. In insinuations and in sublimation. In ancestor veneration and in ventilation. In crisis and in Christ. In survival mode and in Sicko Mode. In SSRIs and in Sri Lanka. In dysregulation and in dysmorphia. In dysphoria and in dysentery. In synastry and in symmetry. In diarrhea and in the diaspora. In Sam Smith and in Sharia Law. In double eyelid surgery and in double jeopardy. In Alex Trebek and in adderall. In angel visitations and in assumptions. In social construction and in contradictions. In boot straps and in backshots. In interpol and in iterations. In American Sign Language and in English as a Second Language. In secondary sex organs and in sympathetic glances. In empathetic nods and in consumption. In illiteracy and in alliteration. In race science and in information sciences. In the aesthetics of information and in the information of aesthetics. In Cigarillo and in Cinderella. In silence and in silos. In cilantro and in schizophrenia. In the blind spots and in the bald spots. In alopecia and in alignment. In affixation and in Helvetica. In indentations and in interstitials. In intimate partnership and in identity politics. In pedestalization and in pastels. In idealization and in single white female-ization. In intellectualization and in intifada. In allegations and in autistic allegory. In curation and in customization. In emojis and in Erewhon. In libidinal economies and in lobotomies. In microplastics and in microbraids. In mimesis and in twinnem. In ambiguity and in antifa. In hyperreality and in normality. In hypernormalization and in unreality. In articulations and in gesticulations. In libraries and in insane asylums. In victimhood and in vibe. In vitro and in utero. In the urinal and in Europe. In yung Jungians and in yung Juhadis. In Nubian goddesses and in Nguyen princesses. In piss and in peace. In placenta and in plasma. In sickness and in health. In late-stage capitalism and in mold-induced chronic fatigue syndrome. In a selfhood composed of the fragmented parts of my mother. In a time and in a place. In a time of cholera. In a time of Maunchausen. In post-partum. In pre-cum. In post-nut clarity. In predestination. In love. In a hopeless place. In critical race theory. In critical race practice. In the pocket, out of the pocket. In the matrix, out of the matrix. In a punk way. In a pop way. In the frame. In a context. In a pill. In a potion. In a shaman. In a sheik. In a psychic. In psychosis. In purgatory. In paralysis. In psoriasis. In pussy lips. In too deep. In too much. In a mood. In one friendship bracelet bead hole and out the other. In minimalism and in maximalism. In whimsy. In wokeness. In Wellbutrin. In Wonderland. In Wisconsin. In wiggers. In Walt Disney. In wages. In suburban ennui and in subtle urban sex appeal. In idiosyncrasy and in Umm Khulthum. In Oprah. In algorithms and in acolytes. In aldente and in Aladdin. In deliverance and in delayed gratification. In scam likely and in malls. In pickle ball and in outbound calls. In dead air and in dividends. In ankle monitors and in ankh bracelets. In monitoring spirits and in chirping smoke detectors. In tinnitus and in dookie braids. In dead moms and in astrology. In CO2 emissions and in 72 virgins. In 106 & Park and in 1001 Nights. In Scheherazade and in schadenfreude. In dropped soap and in limerence. In incidentals and in hyptic jerks. In the Age of Aquarius and in the Tropic of Cancer. In scapegoats and in throat goats. In attachments and in style. In BBC and in BCC. In HTML and in CSS. In windows XP and in enunciation. In ecstasy and in X O X O, Gossip Girl. In Sufi mystics and in soul ties. In Kiely Williams and in BLM. In Kat Williams and in Hello Kitty. In Neopets and in neoliberalism. In synergy and in sycophancy. In lassitude and in lacerations. In loving memory and in effacement. In Living Color and in The Color Purple. In sincerity and in solipsism. In Rack City and in Iraq. In anemia and in Bohemia. In Azerbaijan and in New Amsterdam. In New Holland and in the Holland Tunnel. In ululation and in Lululemon. In opioids and in olfactory. In existentialism and in exoticism. In extensions and in orientalism. In self-commodification and in comorbidities. In coworkers and in cousins. In clogged arteries and in clogged pores. In clogged toilets and in clogged chakras. In parking lots and in peroxide. In palindromes and in parody. In poverty and in proximity. In plexiglass and in racial chats. In prerogatives and in pejoratives. In ponchos and in pompadours. In laymen terms and in lace fronts. In Tarantino and in tourettes. In Toronto and in tuberculosis. In Type 2 diabetes and in typos. In the TSA line and in the tardis. In glocks and in grippy hospital socks. In Ferraris and in rhinoplasty. In America.

Excerpt from Safy Hallan Farah’s forthcoming yet-to-be titled novel.