Dolled

[It is natural to prefer the mewling whimper of static,
Scared of the lightning like we are, trickling
Across the TV screen,
Than to tune in, of course it is
If anything concerning our relation to it is natural.]
The more the machine observes the video screen, the more
Human it appears.
Appears because it is creating the illusion of humanity,
Yet the appearance of humanity,
Inspired by old-fashioned televisual lies
Is real enough, give or take
A touch of lipstick;
It is only the final stretch, to return to a more
Inhuman state
That overwhelms it.

Pulsatile are our relations with artificial demand,
The artificially inflated demand to be artificial,
Does self-decoration make one a cyborg?
Does interaction with visual media?
Which half is the one that costs us half our organicity?

We are in love with things which will destroy us.

We are besotted with the mirror image which does not reflect,
The telic shape of our face, our eyes, the rouge of our lips
(A bloody strawberry, a rotting cherry, paint, paint)
And despite knowing the pretence, we subscribe,
Our self-awareness does not keep us from being led
Astray
From asceticism, and we do not know
How to be beautiful anymore,
But we think our way to the
Coincidence of the vicious cycle,
To go deeper into obscurity, and reference these conventions that
We'd never talk about, that are unworthy of discussion, that are impossible to discuss
[What do you see that is being asked? What is the dilemma at hand? What do these words mean, so non-specific, so eliding of make-up, television, anorexia, waves of feminism, old-fashioned dialectics, and a single short film that started it all? And why so many questions?]
Properly, in words, in paper form
That isn't glossy and one-sided. The vogue is the vogue.

We are in love with things which will destroy us.