"Fuck those Rick Owens-loving fags," says the Raf Simons fan, slipping on his mesh tank top and cuffed acid wash jeans. "At least there are still some real designers out here making clothes for powerful straight men like myself." He zips up the Helmut Lang MA-1, and adjusts the straps around his neck and groin. The sun is up. It’s a new day.
I hate to spoil it,
Traci Brimhall, “Rapture: Lucus” (via literarymiscellany)
but the end of every biography is death. The end of a city
in the rainforest is a legend and a lost expedition. The end
of mythology is forgetfulness, placing gifts in the hole
where the worshipped tree should be. But my memory
lengthens with each ending.