Prescription, subscription … you say eether, I say eyether; you like tomayto, I like tomahto … and honestly, let’s call the whole thing off.
Both of them. All three of them. And anything else that knits into this strange, uberUPF-level manufactured fugue-fabric that veils everything the eye sees and the mind’s eye imagines. A hybrid jacquard basket weave with the warp of materialism, and the weft of the success of beauty in all its patterns. Success buys beauty, beauty buys success in the way of the present President, ricocheting a decreasing trajectory until it runs out of puff. Like an old birthday boy at a self-devised, wealth-bloating $US60m birthday bash of mixed martial arts and mixed support where even simple cue-cards couldn’t be read. What was meant to be said was, “Michelle Obama has a man.”
It was all unnecessary. The fat fun had been taken out. What we got was an obscene fightin’ machine taking on reason and reality, and shadowboxing vanity surgery.
Everyone’s punch drunk. Whether they drank the cosmetic character Kool-Aid or not. Seeing a sea of skelo-faces all ET adjacent inflicts a moral trauma from which there is slow recovery from the swirling confusion of whose face is that, and the lost art of recoiling. The filter of that fugue fabric seems to have dulled instinct into extinction.
Maybe that’s why everything looks and feels and sounds so dull. Even if it’s sharper, more plush and louder. It’s just dull, dull, dull with sensor lights and a concerning discernible buzz.
What it lacked in sense it made up in massive lighting rigs that bore down upon the boor who’s Barnum-&-Bailey’d the US in under four-and-a-half years. So blinding were the more than 800 modules to flight crews, a commercial pilot lodged an offical complaint that officially won’t go anywhere. Give ’em the ol’ razzle dazzle is Donny’s compulsive gilding of everything including bread and circuses. You don’t want to swing the spotlight on the increasing cost of a thick white loaf that’s either making a sandwich out of you, or you’re making a sandwich out of it.
Half a sandwich at least. And without anything on it to trigger nausea or a sense of normal nutrition.
Certainly no beef cheeks. Which might be why they’re being removed with the reach and expediency of an online reputation management scrubbing, and good reason to overhaul the education system as far as comprehension is concerned. If GLP-1 food lists suggest “no beef cheeks” it may need clarification.
Luckily it’s far too late to influence Marlon Brando’s bulldog take on Don Vito Corleone. He may never have had the chance to reject a ’72 Oscar had he not beefed up those buccals with cotton balls and prosthetics.
Like everything good and abjectly removed about the ’70s, buccal fat has teamed up with the fat of all other areas of the body that have been declared as nothing but an announcement of how unsuccessful, unbeautiful, and decidedly on the wrong side of desirable you are.
It’s a grift for a fat graft to your arse.
Something so ill-fitting and so ill-affordable that within a fortnight you’ll have convinced yourself of how absolutely, positively overnight it’s needed.
As soon as possible.
When razzle is dazzling at its most blinding, the bait-and-switch switch is a comfort; the smooth familiarity of outcomes made of snap decisions baked brittle in intuition, low odds and a collective belief in facelessness. Ours and others. How convenient it is to not have to deal with people; how even more convenient when we can’t tell them apart. The bait-and-switch of features and shape like cut-out clothes on a 2D Barbie. Pick a lane, stay expressly in it and race to the end: a massive pile-up of delusion, disappointment and debt.
Just be thin and angular while you’re doing it.
If it’s for the benefit of inflicting a more painful, more memorable shoulder, knee, or elbow shove to anyone in the way, having to have the strength to do it is secondary to it how it looks like it might work. Form over function has form in the land of the formulaic, where the dear and the stethoscope roam.
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word about industrial designed individuals and some with biological beginnings.
Which matters less and less, with so much money to be made in making it matter less and less. From even before the cradle to the grave ending of being in one, are surgical options and procedures to get us what we want. Drastic physical alteration seems the go-go-go-to of a life unexamined but for erroneous comparisons, consultations and clinical notes.
The Buccal Fat Removal And Weight Loss Drug Combo Dental Challenge: As Confronting As UFC Brawls On The Lawns Of The White House
Buccal fat removal doesn’t directly impact teeth other than the loss of a built-in buffer for a smack in the face. It is however, an invasive and irreversible oral surgery. It’s a trauma to the body that carries the risk of nerve damage and facial muscle complications that requires anaesthetic, sutures and 4-6 weeks of soft foods and a hardened self-image.
When coupled with semaglutide flab jabs the disinterest in food pays off while the reported dental damage doesn’t.
As well as as well as an increase in incidents of decay and dry mouth, those on the medication have also experienced tooth erosion and extractions as the result of routine reflux and vomiting. Some have had teeth simply crack in half. Many suffer bruxism and gum inflammation. Conversely, medicating for diabetes rather than weight loss, shows cases of enhanced gum health due to improved blood sugar regulation.
Maybe visual environments devoid of space and vibrancy have created an appeal for a soulless aesthetic and the cheeky no-cheek face trend reflects that. Maybe we don’t see ourselves as anything but a Tesla-wedge in the background of technology’s purported efficiency and perfection. Beyond human capability, apparently.
The irony certainly isn’t.
The horror vacui of the Middle Ages mutated to a modern day honour of the vacuous. Whereas space was once considered a failure of imagination, emptiness is now physical and figurative prime real estate during a long-term epidemic of numbness and nonchalance. It’s the face of what people think they should want in comparison to what they say they want and what they really want; mirroring the isolation, loneliness and masked misery of contemporary life.
Whatever it is, it sure ain’t pretty.