Leave it to a sunny day to turn a boring chord progression into a bright war against imperialism. A day that shimmers you pearl-promised, tranced in rays of purple unhazed, unfazed by the boom of doomsday’s drums. Leave it to a sunny day to steam your third eye clean, to make you feel so far out you can hear the stars sneeze. On a sunny day, no need to have an eraser big enough to correct the sky’s misspelled skywriting. Let it keep interpreting its own ruptures and raptures. Let the earth keep spinning, suffering from the unpredictable physics of first-kiss gravity.
Friday, June 19, 2026
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Chad Parenteau
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