Judging by the sensation felt in even the briefest of separations, the body is immaculately in love with the air


Leave a Comment


There is a defensible virtue of disdain, directed at the brands of affluence. To the degree that they exercise name and seal, to venerate such extravagant materialism, in a world where so many have so little. But there is also a degree of sadness in the particular portion of the masses who seek out such reified markers as wearable symbols of status or wealth, because they too are caught in their own cycle of visionary poverty, no matter how exquisite the stitching, or sincere the fit. We are all naked underneath. And then there are the actual makers, the designers, the models, the marketing agents, who are, in a very real sense, just doing their jobs. Many of them incalculably attuned to their art. And so this is all of a circle, and a silence, and a symbiotic fabric of culture. There are so few hard and fast right and wrongs. The nature of truth is its rarity. There is only labor, as love made visible, and suffering, as love untouchable, and an invisible ocean of electric, exhausted, and merging currents, uniting them. And we all hope that our actions - and most assuredly our genuine ones - whether they be on the one end of that very tangible spectrum, or the other, are reducing the latter, through the authenticities of the former. And we can constantly, and honestly, ask ourselves: are we doing enough