Contorted face photo is of an early astronaut test subject in the 1950s undergoing accelerating G-forces.

Text:
We are born and we bounce away into an avalanche. So the reality is:

Everybody is swinging for eye-popping home runs and sail through sea changes.

But as we experiment with dissonance and tomorrow, get your legs under you.

And be a long man in the small town and on the couch. With pulled pork. And hard-to-find whiskey.

No doubt about it.

Text on her purse:
leave the spinach in your teeth and overrun red signals in a kitchen that screams kitchen

Text on five panels:
Paddling the Rappahannock / brings your heart up to the 18th and 19th centuries / you could disappear down these things / slowly and quietly / thinking about it / I was up all last night besmirching an entire bag of Cheetos.

There’s a literary term called flabbergasted honking / in Moby Dick a novel about an underground race through Indiana and Missouri / a mob of ceramic election people / ping-pong up and down / pissing off the Earth’s magnetic field.

If you smack with a time hammer / there are cracks in the past and present / that can mix in the melt moving future / I don’t know how / But what we think we know is / it spills out into the sea of stumbled meatloaf and mac and cheese space.

The first results are really beautiful / watch very carefully / when you’re dangling in a complicated topography / life is simplified to hoboing to Memphis with a woman wearing a sandwich.

A Reporter:
Across the country / squirting out everywhere / arena Americans are on television squandering the promise of intelligence / this has all the makings of a behavior dislocation torpedo / and frankly the pushback don’t seem to lambast in outreach.

Text on left:
This is a light at the end of the hubbub of all the wrong ways-- / It's shutdown beautiful and unfathomable so now / we can translate the language of wave after wave of no end in sight / into everyday oxygen language.
Text on right:
You start thinking: Okay! Look at the--the clockwork facts. Look at the / sliding glass doors that look like blue capacity morning underwear / Look around It's a fine line almost touching the landscape / This is really going to timetable deepen down here.

His text:
I have run out of a distinctive distinction/
We live in a world / Mix all that together / What a mess./ In this life I have lived / it's never the right time/ I have 10 fingers / I'm capable of understanding / I'm here / But / in my mind / it's not / whiz-bang clear.

Her text:
I was like, what / He's been doing this all year / What just happened? / Why am I paying attention / Who is this guy? / The ripples of consequence / must be / smeared with / unfixable / backbone / None of the algorithms predicted this / The mess is compounded / Yet here we are.

TEXT LEFT:
There's a hiccup of silence along the coast /
as we are moving into an anonymous and wondering moment /
But my hurricane questions come splintering into tipping point language / as we continue slipping through waves of muscle weakness.
TEXT RIGHT:
I open my door and run outside to see an overstuffed episode / a fast-moving fire of Tuesday evening distance /
Beyond how weird that statement is, similar language is employed by drumbeat /
it's hands-on and one-to-one--I will pass all this along.

Text from T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding":

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Text: "We have a history of canceled restaurant plans."