::: free receipts :::
01-30 / 11/26

after SOPHIE XEON’s HEAV3N SUSPENDED throatfolding


01-30-21

109 in. x 2.25 in.

          these pearls of fire
          are the mouths
          of a mute moon

          these tongues
          are grafted from nerves
          of soundless rivers

          there are still songs
          beyond our voices

          suspended heavens
          to be unsung



read about and listen to 
SOPHIE XEON
- my shop is the face I front
- listen to PRODUCT
- Acid Horizon’s PC Music, Accelerationism, and Xenofeminism
- Anti-Hauntology
- ‘I’ can make you feel better
- Remembering SOPHIE’s radical futurism
- The Xenofeminist Manifesto
- online communities: r/PCMusicr/SOPHIE
- numbers label
- PC Music label
- Transgressive label
- PC Music & the Artificial 


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heatflow’s (pay what you can & get copies for friends!)

(helps cover shipping)

(helps cover shipping & materials)
(covers shipping, materials & etc. projects!)

11-26-22

24 stickers  (3 in. x 2.25 in.)

50 copies


how much of the city
can you cover?

the tree is a reaching river



see heatflow’s photography & writing 

















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puddlethumb’s
(pay what you can & get copies for friends!)

(helps cover shipping)

(helps cover shipping & materials)

(covers shipping, materials & etc. projects!)


1-1-23

34 in. x 2.25 in. 

50 copies


see 84000



















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Sara Lefsyk’s
I draw a fake effigy. “Who let us into hell?” It says. 
(pay what you can & get copies for friends!)

(helps cover shipping)

(helps cover shipping & materials)

(helps cover shipping, materials & etc. projects)


1-15-24

70 in. x 2.25 in. 

100 copies


With the shrieks of 10,000 Angels, Sara’s poem forces 10,000 insurance companies to fall to their knees in terror at meeting “ the daughter of a solitary fish” speaking with the language of “a small but savage town.”

       My diagnosis included writes in a
      sad penmanship about ordinary things.

      When they found me typing love
      letters to a pack of wild dogs,
      my diagnosis was unattainable.

      When they found me scraping
      my ugly little teeth against the
      pavement, my diagnosis was
      dental. When they sent me to
      the actual dentist, my diagnosis
      was an eight-fold path.

      No one could tell me anything
      because my diagnosis was small
      and vegetal.

      When my diagnosis was glass-jar
      heart, the treatments were: wild
      hare, water of rye and water of
      snake.

      My diagnosis was a never-
      ending receipt.



read the full text of I draw a fake effigy. “Who let us into hell?” It says.


see Sara’s Ethel Zine & Micro Press


betweenthehighway CCLA 0.4
wherever
visible and invisible
streets meet