crying is an ugly farce. it's so cruel how one's mouth jerks outwards into that grotesque smile, how the gulps are really just grotesque hiccups, how one's face is a wet, red mess, a clown in the rain.
there are so many french people in greenwhich village
s told me about using future shop for rentals, he could return stuff, no questions asked, before a month was through.
when, how did it happen that we came to want stuff with a label on it? have we always been this way? it makes sense in terms of laziness, labels are rich signifiers of normalcy, of wealth (when you pay for something you're also paying for the price you're paying, it's a privilege to hand over money for something and sometimes you really have to pay extra for that privilege. weddings are really gruesome examples of this, people shopping for dresses and simply wanting to pay more because of their fear of cheapness and absolute faith in dollars to signify their investment in their marriage)
god natt. furniture is just furniture in this house. the dust is dead.
limpness is so horrible, it makes you feel the inside of things, and everyone knows how squishy and abject that is. things have to push back. to give is disconcerting.
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