Fashion wears us more than we could ever be said to wear it; we only have these experiences and ideas in direct and reflexive proportion to the extent that they, in fact, have us. We do not search for meaning – it searches for us and there, finding us as so many yawning vacuums and empty vessels – proceeds to populate us, like viral threads self-propagating in waves of worthless, melancholic chemistry and orchid dust. We are cast aside once we are (once again) useless and hollowed with so much borrowed significance and futile subjectivity…

One thought on “Worthless Chemistry and Orchid Dust

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