Art by Amber Liang

What is forbidden in utopia? Days of the week, forbidden. Distinction between week and weekend. Distinction between rest and play, between play and work, between work and rest. Distinction between girl and boy. Distinction between green and pink. Email is forbidden in utopia. Because of course the screen does not exist. Though written communication is encouraged. Written communication remains a primary mode of communication. Nice to know we got that one right. Looking directly at the light until a painful sort of halo the colour of light appears around it, that is not forbidden. Looking at the moon, not forbidden either. Cereal, perhaps forbidden. Cereal boxes surely forbidden. Grilled cheese, allowed. Grilled cheese with lentil soup, yes, and untidy nailbeds. Though reading remains a possibility there is no desire to read. Or rather all desire is the desire to read, and all desire is fulfilled at the moment of its conception, or just soon enough that the desire remains in the belly, growing like a watermelon, not leaking like a trickle or stream into the legs or anywhere else. Or perhaps desire is forbidden. Distinction between inside and outside, forbidden. A smoke? Is a smoke to be forbidden? No, it couldn’t be, this smoke in T’s hand, sitting here now in front of me, T in their face and hands, grinning at me after they blow the smoke at me in my face, my stupid face giddy looking at them. T appears in the utopia just like that, holding the smoke and laughing.