sorry, seoul.
sorry i talked bad about you behind your back yesterday.
and sorry i sometimes get jealous.
but more than that,
i’m sorry you’re so loud and rude.
that you hurt my lungs and you shove into me.
and you think your art is so great
but it’s really cliched and sometimes mean -
not in a thought-provoking way,
but in a swastika-wearing-mickey-mouse-pooping-on-a-korean-woman’s-face way,
in a way that makes me feel so unwelcome and isolated.
and i’m sorry that your artists and musicians hate me
but your lecherous officeworkers and greedy trinket-sellers love me.
i’m sorry that i try to read books in city coffeeshops when i should be shout-talking with my stupid, ugly, boring friends.
i’m sorry that i gave my seat on the subway to that hobbling old woman when the 20-something guys around me ignored her.
i’m sorry to pay attention to the world instead of texting and gaming and headphone-listening like everyone else.
to be fair, usually i love seoul so much,
but yesterday, being in seoul was so aggravating and upsetting.
maybe it was just a collective city-wide bad mood (or maybe just a collective claire-wide bad mood).
also, yesterday i saw seven pounds and it was really really really bad.
so do not see it.
even for free on tv.
also write to will smith in a campaign to stop him from making serious films ever
and to expand his serious facial expressions repertoire
beyond outraged and the furrowed-brow-hurt-puppy face he wore during seven pounds like a mask.
where did that fresh prince go!?
