Water advances through the mouth of the river, a completed sound with its own repression, undoing a sound like household events: synching up a satin robe, the worth of a scream. You are in the Gold Trailer and hear loud music coming from the right far rear of one of the rooms and proceed to enter the booth in-between both rooms. The lights are off in the room but there is a strobe light on with loud music. The subject sits clothed on the floor. An unknown figure, white and also clothed, enters. Worn Plexiglas covers the figure’s torso with the fine latitudes of a earthworm’s form. The figure moves closer to the center of the room. Under the strobe light the figure’s lips are megawatt eggplant, a sculptural edgy ponytail locks in the look and a plump band of collagen brackets the moment’s grammar handed over on a plate.

Numbers arrive astronomical, names derive fantastical.

Around that time she started posting images of her cunt on instagram; she hated so hard we all loved her.