The nation regroups around ambivalence: you have never been less stateless, their pain never more general. Left family, country, trees: we would be building now, watching the basketball team lose. In short: making a life, whatever that means. A whole life scheduled around cutting the grass: it would only take three hours every weekend. And friendship would still remain the biggest myth: just an accounting of loss in which your cousins play no role.

Upon turning 35, the city turned so quiet you saw no end to hate: Europe had a sense of tragedy once, now no more. To see no limit to that history, that which was worried over shall breach again: you fold in their tragedia, incorporate it. Your face calcifies, eyes lowered, mouth resting parallel at best: still you are told how young you look, taken to be 28. Keep hoping you have what they need: memorize their texts, tolerate what others identify as toxic.

UnAmerica, so full of promise: markets up, plenty of craft and artisans. Such employment, Cleveland winning out over rust: everyone is in violent agreement. This, so much this: native son, prodigal son, fitful son. The more you are unused to it, the more you are aware of their mass martyrdom: sites of personhood, barely known by name, emerged two decades ago. They call it independence: you call it denial.

You call it the Hungarian master of the apocalypse: solar flare and electric grid failure, whale and midget, overpopulation and Fukushima fallout, tanks and airspace, vodka and MREs. Who doesn’t want credit for prepping: when they call for an end to candid smiling, will you have your documents ready?

Not wanting to live in Europe is what Europe has always been about: though criticizing unAmerica may be boring today, tomorrow we’ll see. Some say there is not enough violence, that their violence should be mixed better: still, it is not illegal to be aggressive, to hold people to standards. To try to teach them something: to expect they walk in a fairly straight line instead of the Slavic swerve.

But here we are: the angel of history knocked out by marbles spit from gluten-free mouths. Their messianism remains untranslatable: everyone is, again, in violent agreement. So until Texas executes a corporation, being is nothing more than having good financial health: a free, easy-to-use app is available for this latest atemporal vision.

Forget the current de-Europeanization, and forget unAmerica: do not look for the oldest love, but instead the strangest love to make old.

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