Between a life actually lived and a shadow cast on…

At some point choice became this really bad thing.

There was one room in the Los Angeles art world like Wonderland, where we stood three feet shorter than the table, near chair legs like pillars. What we wanted, what we chose to want, was to feel our feet swing over the heads of the balding, the aging. We saw banality, and femininity, but we chose the biggest choice. 

No but that wasn’t the choice. The choice was can we get away with it, how much can you lift, do your two hands fit around the back of those pillars. 

It’s the same choice. What can we get away with. Not dying. 


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