I’m *obsessed* with debt
because I have it.
In Paris, in a large house, we decided:
anything that makes you happy is worth it. ✨✨
In the large house, I tolerated facefuls of smoke
and smiled at things that made me sad.
A director, working on a project about a genocide,
held my shoulders. He said of the crowd:
“They don’t fucking get it.”
They were a distanced referential.
Internecine not; the director knew I knew
genocide. (I felt really seen in that moment.)
Reader, your call: should I find myself?
You’re right! Let me pretend. I should have said
to be propertied is relatable; not that I’m relatable to property. Who, me?
My friend gave a wine speech in the large house.
I got to watch. He thanked the hosts for hours.
My friend went to art school.
I took Political Economy.
(Video Art had a prerequisite.)
We learned about regimes and systems of governance.
I liked to walk around without speaking in Paris.
I encouraged those around me to practice their English.
I’m pretty selfless.
The detective in the film says: “He’s one of those kids born after the war.”
We all are, boss. The war the war the war.
We’ve all been very busy.
I want to connect to my ancestors.
So I lay in the park for five hundred years.
The sun shone red! (But Reader,
I was exhausted.)