Costumes...

Superficial layers of color and cloth, covering flaws, concealing anything real that might give insight into a heart or a soul. Longing to fit, to find a perfect piece in a fucked up puzzle, they sculpt and mold and otherwise modify until existence is minimal, and exhibition is the main. Seeking satisfaction, regardless of reality, nothing made of substance and genuine depth, but merely illusion and shallow deception, they stumble through, unknowing, careless of what is real or no. Pain is perpetuated, truth unknown, self-destructive source of motivation driving them on.

Together they perform, filling empty roles, playing false parts, life is a stage and the director is a whore. Souls are sold for the lust in their eyes, diverting deep emotion for the pleasure of the flesh. Dreams are discarded, love is denied. Whims of society decide which act goes on, an erotic portrayal of a marketing ideal or perversion of true passion, either way it isn’t real. Discouraged, disillusioned, denied… devastating awakening, time and time again… prices will be paid.