i’m in love with the birds and
the morning commuters the
won’t-break-the-picket-
liners the dogpound and
aristotle,
integration of man, politics,
participation in everything
concerning the state,
weighted-action, 88-keys,
the new, its future contours,
springing, gerunding, love,
revolutionary love.
naila sits at her desk
she spells her name for me.
“ana a’rifu al-’arabiyya qalilan”
we both smile big smiles.
philosophy is for the boys
in the first arabic lesson on pimsleur,
the language-learning program,
the practice dialogue instructs:
“remember, in this situation,
you are an american man talking to a syrian woman.
how would she ask you if you speak arabic?”
“inta ta’rifin…inta ta’rif al’arabiyya?”
i practice the lesson three times until i make no errors.
philosophy is for the boys
this morning, i awoke to a voice-message from a parisian
colleague–the director of le centre d’histoire knows that
i took a champagne bottle from the community fridge
intended for a faculty retirement party
(an innocent mistake)–
“i am so sorry, victoria. i didn’t mention your name,
i said ‘an american took the bottle.’”
philosophy is for the boys
i’m at an art opening in marseille.
one sculpture references haiti.
i’m smoking outside with friends and strangers,
“la révolution häitienne…häiti…ay-eeh-tee. haiti. le pays.
haiti. the country. the haitian revolution. tu connais ?”
their faces become bored
with that boring territorial
attitude of people who don’t like foreigners
in their country.
philosophy is for the boys
there’s week-long military parade practice in belgrade.
i’m walking home along the danube.
the most direct street home is blocked off by men in
uniform. they shout at me, i don’t understand.
one of the men addresses me directly:
“english?”
“yes.”
his voice is soft and calm.
“you have to go around.”
“where?”
his eyes are brown.
philosophy is for the boys
i’m watching gürsel tekin enter cumhuriyet halk partisi
istanbul headquarters live on tv through the window at
marmara pastanesi,
sipping tea.
a large group of schoolboys show up.
they’re sitting outside,
sipping tea.
some are standing, there’s not enough seats.
“excuse me, miss, can we have this chair?
they come around again a few moments later.
“excuse me, can we have this chair?”
when i’m ready, i walk inside to pay.
i put my new copy of the quran on the counter while
i look for my wallet.
the man running the counter notices the book.
“are you reading the quran?”
“yes, it’s beautiful.”
“are you muslim?”
“no, but i like to learn.”
he types the price of my tea and cake into the register.
“actually, can i please pay for their tea, too?
the boys outside?”
“all of them?”
“yes”
“are you sure?”
“yes, please”
he asks the baker how many cups. they look outside
to count the boys. the waiter comes over to the counter.
they ask him how many cups. he looks outside to count
the boys.
“ondört? ondört.”
i pay and say thank you.
as i’m leaving, the man behind the register shouts to the
boys outside,
“çayını o ödedi. çayını o ödedi, teşekkür et!”
the boys stand and give me a round of
applause. all of us are laughing.
“thank you! thank you!”
primary color (2025) love in the mystic | date flesh (II) | two a.m. rose water’s delirium | we euphoric verses going on and | hitting harmonics | so, | primary color | sitting in the green | philosophy is for the boys | all up in a mirror | bootleg tonkotsu ramen | huhummm crackling ready | something's gonna come around | date flesh (I) | pink | excellence