the greatest exporter of culture itself has none and wouldn't it come as a surprise to those japanese teenagers, ears full of our honey shifted voices clothed in designer denim and oversized cotton-poly blends. they'll never know the mire that we've become, (was it ever any better?) so they worship our satellite transmissions of red carpets and double filet-o-fish and cement handprints while we see them and think about how (fucking) green their synthetic grass is.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment