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“TOXIC
BUTTERFLIES”
I
grew up in a military family. My brother is a taxidermist.
I’ve been surrounded by guns and death and military
insignia most of my life. My vision of the world is warped
and distorted by the Cold War and its psychic fallout – yet
I used to arrogantly assume I was entirely self-created.
Wrong.
About
a year ago, at a very volatile period in my life, a friend
brought back some butterfly postcards from Asia – I
essentially puked onto them all of this military and corporate
bile that had been brewing inside me, and the result came
as quite a surprise. It´s only with hindsight I could
see what precipitated this act, a deepening mistrust of
formal notions of beauty and the toxicity that seems to
underwrite even the simplest modern gesture. D.C.
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