She sat on the train serene and aware of the sight she was. Young and luminous with the confidence of the teenage experimenter, she was all sparkle and fluff.
Her hair was piled on top of her head like an Anne Boleyn headpiece, pale and wig-like and sticking up in teased abandon to the stars. Her face was smooth and round with invisible eyebrows and lips painted to match her magenta tights. She wore a dress embroidered with little girls just like her and on her feet, over her tights, were silver sparkling dancing shoes which should have been at a ball.
Resplendent and knowingly majestic she sat, knowing her picture and beauty and sparkles.
On her lap a dog, a bag, a dog. A dachshund with purple jewels disturbingly accurate for eyes, her own coat tied around its neck. Its body was tan, but the texture unclear to me as I snuck looks from the other side of the carriage, sneakily inspecting and knowing she thought I was examining her.
The dog was made from close-cropped fur, ponyskin perhaps, a flayed hide fashioned into a facsimile of life. It was vile.
Can I describe the grotesqueness, the perversity of killing an animal, skinning it, and then re-creating it into some golem of a toy? Absurd parody, sick joke, cruel amusement: it was once real and living yet you killed it only to re-make it to look like it did before death, with purple glassy eyes and a shoulder strap.
To make animal out of animal, skin out of skin, but no warmth, no blood, no smile, no heartbeat - profligate foulness.
Maybe she thought it was cute.
Her hair was piled on top of her head like an Anne Boleyn headpiece, pale and wig-like and sticking up in teased abandon to the stars. Her face was smooth and round with invisible eyebrows and lips painted to match her magenta tights. She wore a dress embroidered with little girls just like her and on her feet, over her tights, were silver sparkling dancing shoes which should have been at a ball.
Resplendent and knowingly majestic she sat, knowing her picture and beauty and sparkles.
On her lap a dog, a bag, a dog. A dachshund with purple jewels disturbingly accurate for eyes, her own coat tied around its neck. Its body was tan, but the texture unclear to me as I snuck looks from the other side of the carriage, sneakily inspecting and knowing she thought I was examining her.
The dog was made from close-cropped fur, ponyskin perhaps, a flayed hide fashioned into a facsimile of life. It was vile.
Can I describe the grotesqueness, the perversity of killing an animal, skinning it, and then re-creating it into some golem of a toy? Absurd parody, sick joke, cruel amusement: it was once real and living yet you killed it only to re-make it to look like it did before death, with purple glassy eyes and a shoulder strap.
To make animal out of animal, skin out of skin, but no warmth, no blood, no smile, no heartbeat - profligate foulness.
Maybe she thought it was cute.
1 comment:
I got goosebumps, why anyone would create that let alone pay money for it is beyond me.
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