Irony

Irony, that bitch, runs thru it like a sieve. I guess I cannot complain, as that would sound like everyone else's "right" to bemoan the practices and standards of reality, or purported reality, heh. Bit the bite, tho'. Goddamn that border.
On one side there's the bungled immigration clauses and bureaucracy that denies a performance artist from crossing over to mebby make a couple bux, not fleece the system as would some actually popular stadium-filling rock combo; then a mere sixty feet away is the puff and stuff mustachioed police state of shamerica, who hold you up for no apparent reason, and you sit there waiting, waiting, waiting.
We used to be nice to one another, these two countries. Now we eye each other with suspicion: stealing, bombing, texting, winking. The neighbors are going about their gardening, across the street from the postage stamp customs office-- and blithely too, it'd seem. Funny how we choose to reside next to hornets' nests, as if nothing will happen. And this make believe line that intersects the french from the english? Fines, fees, and detention threats, hissed at me from the jowls of asps.
Fuck you both.


(eyes used for tooth support)