Not a mask, more like a cave. Damp and cool and lonely. Lose your eyes. Buttons from black holes. Liquid drips beneath. Hands turn to elongated pincers. “You hear that? It’s an animal’s voice.” When worn, thirst for new feelings. Each day you do not consume something new, a close friend forgets your name.
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Image source: Psychotherapy and Materialism, ed. Marlon Miguel and Elena Vogman, ICI Berlin Press, 2024.
I was brought here by unturned hovel. Other posts in this series.