My head is wrapped in plastic, i can barely hear my memories

over the rustling machine

I recall gazing into my own bloody countenance

almost too real, the posturing stageblood

representative of the animals killed and tortured in its manufacture.

I ponder my complicity, after all

I did not actually purchase the transmogrifying fluid

It was gift, from someone who did not want it


...and then i wonder at the artificiality of it all

hundreds of hairs pulll loose and entropy reigns,

but the stickey strands are surreal,

another coat of veneer like my emerald irises

i consider for a moment that maybe i should stop - let biology take over

but there is no escaping,

we live in a world full of manufactured concepts

time, money, nature, language

we might as well embrace another use for a plastic grocery bag

the technology of light-refracting chemistry

indulge hedonism


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