Avalon Emerson
Forget hype: most jams compacting the great RSS feed colon are buttressed high by the weight of their hyphens.
Coke-house.
Tard-wave.
Post-trill troll-gaze.
Ed Hardy micropenis-step.
Avalon Emerson will not transcend genre (the job of Cage and Prince and avocado pho), but her no-brow style might transcend the meta tags of your brain’s dumbass heart.
There’s a need to crunch the negative into a JPEG of a lotus, just like there’s a little Judith Butler swag in the breath of every repressed Mormon housewife fashion blogger.
“Why are there so many hard parts in my dandy pack?” a girl friend of mine Tumbl’d, un-fucking-prompted like debt or the wind.
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