All You Need

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First there’s a Little black dress on a cactus; a mirage, which at a distance is one thing, but close up is something else altogether.

And a skeleton in a suit; an unfortunate traveler who sought that illusion is now, as well as being part of that tragedy, a metonymy for a career paradoxically fossilized before it died.

Finally there’s the anthropomorphized vulture, elegant in solo flight, but clumsy when social on the ground where he defend himself by projectile vomiting.

“There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be … All you need is [art, work and] love … she loves you, yeah …  oh, yesterday” (Lennon-McCartney, 1967)

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