An Attempt to Resuscitate Guy Debord—the founding member of the Situationist International—by Means of Exchange and Sexual Favors
I know better than to imagine the two of us—heads in hand—leaning against a stone wall in Paris together. Getting faded to the soundtrack of the Seine together, until we’re beat from trying to find concrete to paint. Until I am beat, and we are out of paint. I am out of money and you are on to something.
Even then, and needing sleep, I’d be your vacant alley. One of the many lost hoodlum girls to you, so affected by the prose that I skip school for you to have doughnuts and brandy with the dark-haired crowd of you, to jot you down in sharpie on stall-walls, in attempt to exchange rivers—my Mississippi for your Seine. To better imagine you alive, I’d haggle my capital for your spectacle, your Parisian triangle for my Jackson Square, rum for Burgundy wine.
I know better than to imagine it all fine if I popped open for you like a can of Pringles. That you wouldn’t have popped a cap in you if, on the Mississippi, we got faded enough together that even the soot of you would rather do better than be thrown into such muddy water.