Behind the Prints
Tuxedo says black and white. His eyes — and that angel spot — disagree.
They put me in a tuxedo and figured that settled it. Black and white, very dashing, case closed. Except there's a spot on my back — my people call it my angel spot; I've never confirmed or denied it — that's been white since the day I showed up, no tuxedo required. So the black-and-white thing was already a little more complicated than it looked. Then there's the mushroom, sitting right between my eyes, exactly where it belongs. Mushrooms certainly elevate us — that's not a metaphor I'm willing to unpack further — just a fact I'm willing to wear on my forehead. I'm not going to explain the colors. Some things lose the whole point the second you translate them into words that make sense. What I'll say is this: it's not a costume malfunction. It's dripping with something a lot closer to beauty than chaos, even if it looks like both at first. So yes — dressed up, sharp, all business from the collar down. From the eyes up, I contain multitudes. Try to keep up. I'll wait, but not for long.
