Chinese Dream 14

Race, friends, is boring.  Everyone says so. Hashtag all lives matter, the channel turns, we ourselves live and turn, and moreover the TV told me yesterday (unendingly) ‘Ever to talk about race means you have no Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no Inner Resources, because all I see is race. People have race, literature has race, especially great literature, Henry has race, with his blacks & whites made up as his feelings about love & sex & art, which have race. And our social ills, & sin, in Chinese drag are somehow a dog that’s eaten itself, & its tail miserably remains as our mirror, bone or breaker, heaving on tide: us, flag.