PREMIERE Jessica Hottman, “Poisonous”
Like moths to a flame, the base of human impulse runs wild like puckish imps reacting to each mischievous whim. Like bumbling bees making a dart toward a nectar that is instead some sort of saccharine styled synthetic substance that proves to be incompatible for hive comb construction. The allure of a chic designer accoutrement or attaché bag that turns out to be a fake, fresh off of Canal Street in Lower Manhattan. The thirst for a grand cru that turns out to be nothing more than mass produced plonk purloined from a corporate supermarket chain. An overpriced vintage album won at an online auction house that is revealed upon arrival to be nothing more than a cheap bootleg from a seller that is suddenly non-responsive, and nowhere to be found.
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