"White people love to walk around writing about how creative they are in their Moleskines"
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The world is a terrorizing place. Banality borne so near to beauty. Pain come to pass with boredom.
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So tremendously constructed, these young women. And yet so little of it mined and shaped and employed from themselves. Like the Statue of Liberty, made of foreign labor, made of foreign mettle and welcoming foreign efforts. From the alien, to the alien, by way of alienation. The face as plastic image. As mask, clear and occlusive.
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Happiness is like sand that slips through our hands and its contours we only remember by looking to the bit of what's left. Really, we need magnifying glasses to stare at the grains left still stuck to the sweat of our palms.
