qualities of light

I come from the long and proud tradition of the poor in denial. We eat goat cheese on fresh basil leaves, see hairdressers with accents in their names, and go to universities with proper old stone libraries and if not ivy, than at least vine-variety credentials (though infrequently suffer from any actual belief that our degrees in art history or social sciences will actually land us jobs of sufficeint stature to someday repay our vast collections of student debt), despite knowing that we will be far more likely to see six figures of student loan than annual income. Pretty much all of my friends lead vitually indistinguishable lives from mine, but have arrived here via the direct opposite path.

They come from the rich in denial, home-owner, professional class families who drive cars with distinctly non-english vowel arrangements in their names and are actually imapcted by the state of the economy. They call themselves middle class, as if that will mask the fact that the actual middle class couldn't even afford to rent the basement suite they slap together in order to profit off asian exchange students who are too naive to question housing costs, and don't have to care since the amount arrives western-union from tkyo tycoons believing their offspring will have access to a better life.

They live like I do, in nice apartments in bad neighbourhoods where we drink cheap wine in big bottles (because anti-chic IS the new chic) and pretend to understand what the World Bank should be doing to improve the state of the world. We are unafraid and have sympathy for the native drunks in the alley because we understand the long-term affects of cultural genocide, or so we think, despite the fact that few of us are actually concerned enough about our own culture and society to vote or watch movies without subtitles.

That's fiction, don't start thinking I'm going insane. Infact, ignore me, and go play in the sunshine. That's what I'd be doing if I weren't me.