Paris Paloma represents what I believe to be the demographic of predominantly female youth that perpetrates
the conditions that I am compelled to abide by at the detriment of fairness and self-respect; the friend group
that I fell into in 2018 was a homo/queer sexuality-defined thing that I was accepted into due to, whatever it
may have been, socio-atypicality, agreeability, who is to say. I start dating a female in the group who probably
realistically settled for me as my then-familiar, my gateway into the group, wasn't reciprocative to the
plausible attraction she held for him and it was most equitable to me. Genuine feelings apparently developed
and a good era commenced where myself, my girlfriend and our friend Paola enjoyed a summer and beyond in
frequent company with eachother. The Coronavirus spectacle ensues in the midst of this and unimmediately turns
things on its head majorly - I recall being on the precipice of counter ideology to the left-wing sentiments
adopted by all including myself for a spell shortly before this change, so for it to arrive at that time ensured
I would continue along this already imminent path of renouncing the fallacious critical theory-based rhetoric I'd
worn on my sleeve that benefited me socially but betrayed me internally.

- segue to now, two and a half years after the coinciding social and romantic disintegrations; I spend my time
letting off aggression and meeting my expressionist quota by 'feeding' the opposition by being an easy fool.
Oftentimes my masturbatorial passtime delivers me to some commercial megaphone of self-percieved poisonous,
inflammatory sentiment spewage in entertainment form, which of course means its permeating the consciences of
audiences junior and prime and sustaining their cause at the 128th layer (their ideology is not endangered like
it suggests, its in fact gluttonously overfortified and oppressive - YouTube's bias in comment removal proves
this). Self-analyzing why I am so revolted by the ideas communticated in Paris' music, in Taylor Swift's music,
I realize that they are both women. I feel familiarity with Paris as she's discernibly similar to my ex girlfriend
in rough physical resemblance and even her overtly sentimental, horomone-fuelled way of thinking and communicating,
which I struggle to recognize as artistic given its nontransformation from the idea through the unsubtle lyrics.
I see my ex girlfriend in Paris, lamenting how toxic and malevolent I was (how she unfoundedly perceived me) and
how suffered her existence was as a direct result, and in response I recall the consistent effort to understand
her, accomodate her and the intermittent failures of varying kind, be it in sexual performance (me failing one
time to get her off), in faith (her disrespect of my privacy leading her to crude materials I masturbated to in
her absence) and beyond. I recall the consistent effort of mine and the failures at once, and then the moments
of uncategorical foolishness (me antagonizing Torie's boyfriend and him giving chase to me and my passenger, making
me look so cowardly; coming up short in a debate over sensitivity with Paola), the moments indicative of collapse
(cying with her as we embraced after I'd been condemned by her friends for a meme, her communicating that she
doesn't see a way we could continue), and finally the end (me chasing her in my car, leaving erratic voicemails,
her sending pictures of my successors, etc.). A really torturous sequence that occurs every time I reflect on
her, which happens often as that is all I can do. The mindset that paints me as the responsible party is so
excited by these upbeat (Sabrina Carpenter), molodramatic (Paris Paloma) songs and not wishing to hate myself,
to uphold my being, to not accept the condemnation in my heart as I never took advantage or moved consciously
in a malicious way, I react. I pointlessly appeal to logic in my stabs at validation from conversibles (ordinary
people in the comments section) and these people unfailingly, unswayed regurgitate the same condemnations I heard
3 and a half years ago. The condemnations that neglected the truth and magnified the transgressions of mine
massively, foresaking my character and drawing contemptible portraits of me.