Welcome to my archive of freaky recalls and plaints for the dust age. I wrote this thing--this dossier on the collapse--in ninety movements, building an unreasonable monument to the pleasure of giving up and the fallibility of memory. An instruction manual for an overburdened life, Alms for the Bored is to be held restlessly, read partially, and forgotten in time. Its cover will turn black from the grease of your hands. Its six sections are exercises in total fucking instability, embracing cacophony as a virus and chaos studies in lieu of academia. It's the non-answer to whether or not we need poetry or if it needs us. It's useless questions come undone, all of them. •Sam Pekarske, 2018