satisfaction and pain
melting fruits of disdain
delicate, playful, embracing little island-piece about finding and returning to love.
gentle festival of life where discovery and runaway return means that generational romance converge like beautiful prismatic rainbows in the rain.
to wish for your happy ending and to have it because of another's beginning is as romantic a miracle that a place of flowers and rock could ask for.
cherish every smell and kiss and possibility because it may never ferry back to you
fairly interesting, albeit unintended, to really show the stratosphere of why fashion and art arent about creation, but about capital.
I guess at some kind of vicarious level, most of us want to at least touch the fingertips of that height just to satisfy a curiosity about it. I think its why alot of people are interested in high fashion; the gatekeeping of something so tactlessly elegant and ugly must hold a peculiar sensory zest beyond the high pricing and…
hot pink late night phone calls on transparent phones. supermarket murals. queer dysfunction and TV hum-soaked confusion.
disillusioned gay teens wandering through a gen-x desolation posturing and fucking and over confidently stating The Facts. Ghosts of society left to die and be dead. being a teenager is hard enough, but being a queer teenage nihilist, left to wander art installations and industrial concerts and car parks and gas stations and shit jobs looking for love in Bush's Conservative America? fuck…