Billie Heir

The radiant teen: “These strings which hold everything together are elementary particles of a one dimensional curve animating out of the agape-love point. Creatively, super symmetry is being used to unify, or to weave these strings into a fabric. Obviously, this created life form is similar to the artistic creativity of weaving galactic points into the one portrait which represents all universe bubbles.” The sum of three lives looking for love, is a dying, tinkling sound of two brazen nipple rings clattering and of two brass worry-beads rattling, upon the unforgiving plate with the iron heart. ] The air castle of pop culture that they were supported by disappears in a puff of smoke. ] Accepting bit parts cast in iron, and stripped naked of all that was their legacy, they have become iconic lap dancers of ironic choices before the players’ piano… to a pseudo music roll of charming toilet tissue. ]In good standing above the evil portal which is the iron plate, Evita is victorious in detached irony as she is positively gravitating in the opposite spiritual realm. ] From their hedonistic point of view, they group together, they get naked, and they vigorously unblock each other, as they dirty dance around the purplish black light, and rave upon the grave of an innocent babe. ] Medea’s eyelashes are helplessly battling her tears like thread bare wiper blades squeaking uselessly against the monsoonal storm. ] Once upon a time, Medea was a de-flowered teenager, but after the razing fire of the raging flesh, now she is being raised as a blossoming sunflower. ] From here to eternity, you shall dance in pure white radiance…gracefully floating… in winged ballet slippers. ] Among the crystal tubules is the gift of life within a precious gift container. This hope chest for new beginnings is tumbling in their direction like a first responder. ] Once upon a time, Medea was a de-flowered teenager, but after the razing fire of the raging flesh, now she is being raised as a blossoming sunflower. ] On the same side as the blasé clinic, a stony-hearted crowd of world-weary professionals, jadedly exiting a convention on politically correct ethics, gathers to apathetically gawk at the at the carnage of tolerance.