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• Artiste: Harvey Pekar
• Titre: Blasé Babes
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“I want to be swept off my feet, you know? I want my children to have magical powers, I am prepared for amazing things to happen. I can handle it.” Me and You and Everyone We Know. Dreams are constructs of age. Time refines palates, presuming sophistication is the absence of simplicity. Sunrise desensitized. 18-year-olds wear cigarettes like merit badges as children gawk in ignorance and adults loiter in envy. Age is a constant aggressor. It inhibits with etiquette and belittles with hierarchy. Julian Years are artificial. Surely growth is subtler than the breaking of sacred trees and the ceremonial loss of skin. But competition is more quantifiable than self-fulfillment. As if an orbital motion turned joy into a myth - men trap frigates inside bottles while boys sail paper boats on puddles. This Rube Goldberg machine delays happiness and impedes vision. But I spy an elephant in the belly of a snake, and he made my cheeks burn amid Santa Monica’s foothills, and flush when a waterfall mended a friend. Cherish the wet behind our ears.