we cycle through a series of selves
- Thread starter luka
- Start date
woops
is not like other people
Any serious semiotician could and would do the exactly this
sus
Moderator
Look at the sensual way the hand grasps the white squirting beverage. This one's practically a softball.
sus
Moderator
Everybody's trashed. Our Jesse Eisenberg lookalike—trashed. Spaghetti strap—trashed. Face smooshed, drool dripping on carpet. A girl is so exhausted she's fallen asleep on the toilet.
These are the dues neoliberalism extracts on its subjects. Their playdough mouths make strange garbled shapes and noises. Xenoestrogens plague their water supply. They've lost the ability to communicate, in an economy where language means more than anything. They've become pantomimes for a minstrel song, an emblem of their enslavement: they are possessed and haunted by a mask of a mask, a performance of performance.
But their front is slipping, slipping out of bed, sliding like drool onto the rug. They've fallen asleep improperly—shoes on, bedsheets tangled, toilet paper between the legs, hand fallen in the toilet bowl. Filth and impropriety. Their hair is messy, their midrift exposed.
Mom opens the fridge, pulls out the serum which will revive them from this fugue state, re-energize their mask maintenance. Is it yogurt? It is not even yogurt. It is a performance of yogurt, a yogurt flavored beverage, strawberry to boot. If the dairy is infantilizing, the imitation flavor reflects the degradation of their standards and their loss of the real.
The strawberry? The loss of masculinity brought by xenoestrogens.
These are the dues neoliberalism extracts on its subjects. Their playdough mouths make strange garbled shapes and noises. Xenoestrogens plague their water supply. They've lost the ability to communicate, in an economy where language means more than anything. They've become pantomimes for a minstrel song, an emblem of their enslavement: they are possessed and haunted by a mask of a mask, a performance of performance.
But their front is slipping, slipping out of bed, sliding like drool onto the rug. They've fallen asleep improperly—shoes on, bedsheets tangled, toilet paper between the legs, hand fallen in the toilet bowl. Filth and impropriety. Their hair is messy, their midrift exposed.
Mom opens the fridge, pulls out the serum which will revive them from this fugue state, re-energize their mask maintenance. Is it yogurt? It is not even yogurt. It is a performance of yogurt, a yogurt flavored beverage, strawberry to boot. If the dairy is infantilizing, the imitation flavor reflects the degradation of their standards and their loss of the real.
The strawberry? The loss of masculinity brought by xenoestrogens.
