I am sick of your ephemera.
Given especially that you exist as a province in Canada at this moment in time, I am rather taken by the notion of your obsolescence, of your youthful and unabashed desire to be territory, to be a pioneer breeding ground. To be wilderness, unexplored, suburban.
Get out of Iraq, get out of Iraq.
I wonder what you are doing when you sit alone in the hallway and listen to music on your record player. Jot in your own goddamned notebook.
Go away, go away.
Come away from the hall and put down the radiation headset for just a moment. A millisecond. Come look at the event horizon and let's bask in a forest somewhere.
Look at me. Look at me.
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