Whitetopia: Epilogue
The first dream ever dreamt was a dream of America. Rome, pyramids, practice. The ribbon hemming the present together, the gift, loosely untied, loosely wrapped around cardboard made of broken promise trimming. The ribbon, of rib and forgotten apple stems, the semen still spinning inside of it. This is how you birth a nation, I suppose. By raping it. By untying the threads. Taking the tidy and tearing, tearing, tearing. How does one build a dream…