In describing society, its behaviour, its grandoise stupidity we can be motivated by compassion and despair coloured by not a little sarcasm and cynicism. Yet in every picture there is enervation and texture that rely upon a resented caring for its composition. Framed by our own paranoias, framed by conditioning, framed by false witness and thee theft of all pieces of silver, we kiss thee cheek of thee land that bites us. Receiving in return nothing. Butter nothing is why we came here, nothing is what we so awkwardly strive and fight for.
Nothing is our very precise confrontation with form and reason.
Its easy to forget nothing and hard to describe it. And thereby lies thee endless trick. Unlearned and unsung denying explanations butter avidly seeking them. Thee mirror receives our staring gaze and we melt quite gently and sink away leaving a smoky, cloudy effect like bleach spreading in water. To cleanse our guilt we must describe our fate, objective war zone correspondents using thee aural language of everyday life to define our subject.