plastic transcendence (white lady magic)
the great irony of sex and the city is that a show about the navigation and acquisition of male approval could be hijacked by four women, who manage to turn not only the plot but the very substance of the sitcom into a solipsistic universe of white femininity. this has been said before. what terrible humor the white woman can concoct. what deceitful tales she can tell.
sit com is loosely defined as situational comedy which stands (or, more accurately, sits) for the pleasure of the test audience. hello, are you there? i was just wondering how much they paid you to sit through this shit. maybe you found it in the garbage and thought it well enough to reuse. maybe it appeared on your floor; utility turning forget turning beginning to orphan. maybe it never appeared at all and this is all solipsism turned sour: the kind of white lady resignation carrie bradshaw and her fake friends forced for the camera in season six and movies one, two, and three. blandness, too, can have a sting, like acid battery eating into plastic. oh, maybe that's where you found it. an oozing that turns white to transparent, plastic to air and you can almost make out the coils wrapped beneath rubbery film.
when i was eight my parents enrolled me in a seventh day adventist afterschool program. it was supposed to keep me busy with homework and snacks and playground time, but it came with free bible lessons and conversion therapy which they didn't know about. which they should have known about, because it was a seventh day adventist afterschool program. i met eve and steve for the first time in the red brick church at the corner of richmond and 39th. heard, with my very own ears, in a musky pew (pregnant with a kind of baroque possibility--a rich, maudlin red) of (st)eve's treachery, how they ruined their one chance at an everlasting, pre-transcendental peace. eden is a kind of delicate transparency that garbage bags maintain as sulfur dissolves polyethylene. from the rib of the dumpster, an infelicitous union, an impossible divorce. the white god's prefect represented by plastic--what beautiful deception he can concoct! what sexual tension his bolt exudes, flat and narrow like the pumpernickel expanse of carrie bradshaw's face. maybe that's where you found it. plastic draped like foreskin over cracked shell, now that's
some white lady bullshit