''e's interesting and has good moves, long work

The adorned and the scoured

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

DO have a big fat makeup slave that lives in your makeup laboratory. He is brewing up new creations, conjuring new shades of nail polish, orange or grey, and he sleeps on a lazy susan futon/storage bottle copter on the corner. He is your apprentince. And the slave tells you about this. Apparently the guy who’s it at a very young age at down at a garden show. He got a sunflower up his ass. And it drove him to insanity. He has to wear dark glasses to keep the sun out of his eyes. So the flower doesn’t explode his intestine. A story so typical of the inner city. The other boys walk lines in the sidewalk the shapes of wings. The wings are sand blasted out by the city. The city destroys birds into momentary clouds of blood.

The city tests your eye color with paint mixing stations ripped out of bankrupt hardware stores, boutique paint mixing stores which offer to match to the blue you saw in a dream, the grey you noticed when your car was rammed by a motorcycle cop. The further away your color eye is from the mean the meaner they are to you.

The city is hiring people to put makeup on greek statues. Historical accuracy is the important thing. Not to me. The logistics of color. the Logistics of sand blasters. This statue has full lips, the easiest, I rub lipstick in concentric circles and smear it with an ostrich feather I pull out of my feathery tail piece. My body shakes. The lips ring gllossamar. The top lip pulses, The lips become tails of meteors. The statue imagines my body behind the gleaming mica jumpsuit. I love this statue. We love each other.

And I moved onto the next. Thinner lips, bigger eyes, narrower shoulders. It begs for lipstick color with a pun name: raisin cane, dolce vita, sweet dreams. Fuck you, I tap off a piece off in anger, then add it to the sagging alexander wang double pouch vest, symmetrical in cut and assymetrical in weathering and weight. It sags hard on the left with pieces of art who’ve demanded ridiculous and outdated eye makeup suites, and hair creams unsuited to their cut and style. Fuck them. But thin lips deserves lashes. Half are opposing diagonal hatches, the other half are sweeping strokes twice as long as the hatches, each half overlaps the other in the middle. Perfect, you are perfect. The statue’s eyes now exist to hold and penetrate. I love every bone in your body. We move on, each statue walks with me and stares. Statues only stare, gracefully, or what I remember as the imitation of grace.

Medium lip, calm eye, a cheek as wave, a chin that suddenly pops from the face. I am a workman for the city, I will lay your foundation, I am a weaver for the face, I will ride your wave. The foundation pops open. Your missed future is in my hands, in my leather makeup harness. I blow a conch full of dyes, spikes, dyes. The mirror; the object. A viewscreen in 4 colors I made in the night. I wake up 3 times each night and create new colors. The colors which only exist in my life, they cross to your real. Black, a gloss that will not scratch, only smooth curves. I loom in tweed of Aubranç, Bleaigh, Bonstroon, Balut, Buorzed, Bvonn, of Buuff, Gar , Tailed sienna, Tailed umber, Chuklake, of Chopper, Cordovan, Desert Witch, Ecru, Fallow, Ricochet, Rail horn, of Octo, Wheet, Limb, Throne tan, There are many. The cheek pulses and statue’s heart beats. I walk past. We are nude: nude lipstick applicators are filled with videos of us; stills of videos of us. We continue to the end of the hall. I am paid in dog blood, I make indigo. I work for the city. I am paid in classical fountains that spout sand,  I remove the dune bladder and alter it  it to powder passersby.  We undune the city, sidewalk wings, unblasted, flap and sand is flung and sunk into the ocean. Ah, I spot  a new beach for summer fun, name it for myself? Maybe 😉  Now we are all flawless and smiling and singing and hugging and kissing, Goodnight 🙂

— Myf

Jul 28th, 2009 at 5:09 am

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