

Discover more from if not, Paris
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Something must be done about these little red hearts.
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While the cardiologists are lampooned & the world gorges itself on news feeds,
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the rest of us take selfies & write op-eds to prove that we, too, are heart-checkers.
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We capture images, put them in boxes, become wilful caricatures,
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it’s all about the journey to a certified-blue check.
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Our growth-based mindset has gone viral, malignant & infected,
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but who amongst us has the ovaries, or the balls, or the in-between to say it?
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To turn off the screen, stop feeding these tiny heart-shaped tumors before we’re dead?
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The best version of ourselves see these little bloodred hearts for what they are
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(we know the human heart is so much bigger than this)
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but that version is off-line. It has no followers. The SEO can’t fix it.
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We return to our feeds in search of answers, scampering like spiders on the world wide web,
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scrolling through the writings on the wall, which we’ve known all along:
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our anemic souls cannot survive on this endless feed of digestible content much longer;
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we are trapped inside these little red hearts; there’s no vomit, only wretch.
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So please, be sure to subscribe, please like, & leave a comment
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Don’t feed the animals & please, please, please
❤️ OBLIVION
I’ve been drawing again. Like I used to when I was a kid. I have to remember to zoom in & tune out all the noise.
Little Red Hearts
Tuning out the noise is crucial in a time when 95% of what we experience is just that; noise.
I love this poem, speaks so directly to how I’ve been feeling about social media lately and why I’m choosing to spend more time on Substack.