The Paper-Cutting People

They say pictures never lie... interesting enough, I find this statement to be a lie, indeed. Waking each morning, many plaster their masks tightly fit and convincing... convenient how quickly those scars and acid lines can fade from existence. Marching forward, driven to acquire something prettier, faster, easier, and more extravagant... the flocks and locks of sheered sheep and smoked cigarettes. The exhibition is flawed, like the toxic vapors of bleach burning the throat of clarity and consciousness... we can only prance and scamper so long without detection. If someone were to photograph those precious moments of masochistic embrace, the deviant truth could remain secret and precious... frozen in time, to be lived over and over in perfect rhythm. We see the mask on display and mindset behind the eyes... not the agony beneath, the truth and disdain. Those denizens appear calm and inviting, loving and accepting... the rabbit springs the trap, just in time for Sunday dinner. A photogenic predator aching to snatch and distend your still beating heart... candied innocence, the sweetest meat on which to feast. Of course this isn't always true, sometimes the truth is caught at a weary moment... you needn't be alarmed when you pass by a piece of shit, only when you step upon it.