The possibilities that real life offers up aren't glamorous or polished or perfect, or organized straight or efficient (in the modern sense). These places and events are slow to change and quick to crumble, they are dirty and lost from sense or explanation. They are heartfelt and not thought up. They are mysterious and loose, not tight and always obvious. It's not easy and happy to live out these possible happenings here in real life; it's rough and heavy, filled with darkness and covered in sludge. They're weighed down by the past and simply unaware of the future. The possibilities of real life are not edited together or corrected and deliberated, presented in a light that offer envy and perfection to the onlooking eye. We don't just roll this out onto the red carpet or put it in a tux, a dress or high heeled shoes; we shove it down and wash it's face, pluck its brow and cover it enough to resemble King and Queen. We stretch a smile overtop of it and call to the crowd to howl down the sounds of rumbling nervous stomachs a farts, hiccups and burps. We wipe the shit off it's ass and call it clean.
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