i couldn't even appreciate the artistry behind the clothing designs this year at the met gala because my bitterness and anger toward the exorbitantly wealthy has grown too much to be contained i try to say ooo pretty gown but all the black hateful bile starts oozing out from under the lid of its container. 7 months of genocide and the largest homeless camps my city has ever seen and food banks in the universities and baby formula locked behind glass and stomach gnawing guilt over a $7 latte and rent is always late and always behind on electricity bills uh ohhhh summer is here time for another wild fire. oooo pretty gown. the next met gala theme will be bear spray and what happens is i bear spray inside the gallery. i can't even force a sort of healthy detachment anymore like "haha oh well i guess that movie actor is rich it's not like they're an ultra wealthy bazillionaire oooo pretty gown" they're all worms to me vile beasts i look at them in their isolated imagine john lennon covid song bubble and i feeeeeel the milk of human kindness curdling within me. how can you smile at the camera. we are all dying girl. isn't there a protest not even a block away from you guys? protesters and riot cops and homeless ppl in the streets. i guess that's unfair you guys deserve a night of glitz and glamour and getting away from it all as if you're not constantly away from it all. girl we are dying. sick sick world. sick dying world. anyway i didn't watch the met gala this year
