There are no elite tiers of literature. If it looks like a ladder, a climb, an order, a hierarchy, it’s just capitalism and gatekeeping. Dream más, writers. I’ve got party packs of tacos. Your guesses around all these gates are as good as mine. I stole the actual legit Taco Bell, wanna see? Maybe it’s lucky.
Let’s go be writers and artists. Let’s go live. I’m tired of dying out here. We’re gorgeous gorgeous writers, and we’re not climbing that ladder, scaling that mountain, kissing ass or paying cash to get past your gates. Come find us at the Taco Bell instead.
The Mexican Pizza is coming back. There’s a light ahead. I see it.
Taco Bell, give me the million dollars for literature.
M.M. Carrigan, 4/20/22