Persecution

W. admires my persecution complex. – 'You really think they're out to get you, don't you? You really think you're in trouble'. I may be in trouble, W. says, but it's nothing to do with what I've done. – 'It's not about you', W. says. 'It's never about you'.

When the end comes, it'll be structural, W. says. It'll be about structures of which I am a part. It's nothing personal. It's never anything personal. But the fact that I think it's personal accounts for my desire to protest. I jump up and down like an angry ape, W. says. I hoot and wail.

In the end, all that's left to me is dirty protest. – 'That's your life', says W., 'shit smeared across the walls'. It's my life, that dirty protest, and everything I've written or said.