In Euphoria things are different.
There is a steady beat beneath my feet.
There is an open horizon, two suns and a star and one shining moon.
We speak in a rhythm to express our feelings.
Emotions are watered down, in a dreamy way.
And movement is fluid and connected and graceful.
Art is embodied.
Art is the drive.
Art is our reason.
In Euphoria, imperfections are welcomed—not just tolerated.
We are different.
We are music.
We are everything around us.
Snake a body and pull a leg, drag your love along the floor or keep it safe.
Cut touch to the corner until you feel your ankles break or you hit the wall.
The more it hurts, the more rewards.
And glory!
Is art anything without the glory?
Not that we’d admit it! We’re too smart for that.
Those who truly reveal their faces are gone—and so will be all that do.
Because honesty is not always art.
Lies can make for great art.
Who can fool us easiest?
You? You? Or you?