Mira Martin-Parker

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Cheers

It’s all so funny to you, puking and piercing and playing out your tattoo fantasies. Being homeless and being drunk. Putting on ladies eyelashes and getting sore in places. You like to wear black, and it looks nice on you. It shows off your perfect skin and your brightly colored hair, with its strips of shocking white, scarlet, and harlot. Baby, you’re completely wired. You’ve got your iPod and your G-4, and in the café you like to jack in and travel, throwing around Molotov cocktails online, in defense of the innocent, the angry, and isn’t it funny, seeing whitie fall down like that. "Burn the rich, we’ll use them as kindling during the revolution!" Man it’s all so funny to you. And so clean, really, under all that cleverly constructed filth, all that knowledge of the alternative, those bohemian double cappuccinos, and graduate courses at the New School, and don’t worry about your Milpitas past, your Sunnyvale mama, it’s okay, because you’re cool now, way cool, and isn’t it all funny, so mother fucking funny.