A hundred thousand ethnic restaurants open, not one of them selling authentic cuisine.
A million women dress, not one of them choosing clothes she herself likes. An equal number of men dress in garments that, deep down, they know make them look like fools.
A million swelling hopes flare, not one of them destined to see the next morning’s sunrise.
Ten thousand false promises are made, and broken.
A thousand and one young children cry upon being tricked by an older person.
A single soul retreats into the swirling eddies of inner solitude, prompting a long-dormant goddess to stir, awakening the owl resting beside her.
From her breastplate scowls a terrible gorgon.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorpha
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I bicycle, write, surf, and strive.