on Mark Fisher's Acid Communism

space-setting of ecstatic articulations
showing pleasure, or expansion 
which then take a nostalgic place
what feels suddenly too right meets with an expectation 
feeling new but not necessarily futural
or futural with no sense of beyond
the future you step into
while experiencing
neutralized with the passage of time 
and the reification of the object

what can be conceived is only so far forward looking. 
what is articulated is lost to history. 

look—this song about getting high articulates itself and if you like it too much, you can't get
high without thinking of that song, imagining, am I doing this right? Or, this song left
something out. Or, this song knew shit about shit—product is so much fucking stronger now,

the moment of articulation is the moment of placing the ecstatic in the past. 
not to lament creation 
we knot palm-holds in the rope out of the present 
since we need things to grasp as we climb out


Catherine Fatima is the author of the novel Sludge Utopia (Book*hug).