I dread the streets in the evening: congested, bustling, erotic.

I’d rather stay in and do Yoga, read my Tao Lin novel.

Self-care is feeling more & more like retreating further and further.

As soon as I stop fixating on my shellac nails, it’s over for you bitches.

Air quality is similar to yesterday at about this time: poor.

I dredge the streets for lines: killing likable megafauna.

I’d rather be at home, not in Paris.

Art is feeling more & more like complaining on a very high level.

As soon as it’s over for you, it’s over for me.

Weather is forecast to continue for ten days.

I dread the sun at noon: overheating on a bustling sidewalk.

I’d rather breathe cool mountain air, think cool mountain thoughts.

Introspection is feeling more & more like death of the world concept.

As soon as I’m done here, bye-bye world concept.

Use sun protection from eleven to sixteen hundred hours.

Outside the French windows, there’s too much going on: France.

I don’t enjoy my proximity to a bustling street.

The highest population density in Europe is unenviable.

Give me an ocean of parking lot around each store!

Give me urban sprawl and cars that are also houses!

I like my t-shirt better, now that I’ve removed its tag.

My dad’s tea is better when stronger.

The blinds to the bedroom have been shut.

I’ve dropped the form established earlier, keeping only that each verse has five lives.

Pushed out the French windows, they land on their feet like resourceful people.

The value of the work is proportional to the measure of relief it affords.

How, then, do we feel?

Just a little better than before?

Still rotten to the core?

How about we try some more!

Create a misconception you can run with.

“To cut” is German for “to make”.

Surely I could finish my Tao Lin novel today.

Surely I could make an activity of visiting a bookstore.

The white T adopts my unfavorable proportions.

My face defeated from five minutes outside,

I eat this dinner: bread, cheese, and butter for my nail beds.

Now I wait for my face to heal.

When it no loner betrays signs of wear,

I will venture outside on a trial basis.

This is PARIS DREAD, a dread more Parisian than regular dread.

Say it with me:

I dread the four hours till bedtime.

Empty spaces are worse than anything properly present.

Nothing is more present than the empty spaces till bedtime.