this trash is haunting me. I may forever regret leaving it behind, so I am gonna tell you about it instead. because…look at it. here we have the contents of some lady’s ladylife, strewn across a few square feet of my favorite residential block in northeast l.a., exposed for all to see. there is some kind of weird, silent aggression to this little object-collective. the personal nature of the objects forces the viewer to consider the implied vulnerability of their owner. forced intimacy. which is aggressive and, ultimately, uncomfortable. at the very least, it was uncomfortable enough for me (a snoopy, storytelling weirdo experienced in the dual realms of forced intimacy + hoarding) not to feel right about disturbing the scene and pocketing the evidence. so, instead, I give you this shitty, blown-out photo and the promise/threat of a forthcoming short story. artifacts pictured, clockwise from top: sd cards in pink carrying case, 35mm film in canister (used), pantyliners in factory sealed packaging (unused; 2 pkgs total), + 30 day chip from a 12-step fellowship, most likely the good ol’ A&A. hope you’re all right, baby girl. I bleed, too. a lot of us do.
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I Still Read Your Horoscope 