Life, unfolding before her very Les 4 Ombres De Chanel Quadra Eye Shadowed and Stylo Yeux Waterproof Long Lasting  Eyelinered, green eyes.  And in all her noetic amplitude, a life resembling a noble household tale had the present day been translated to ‘other peoples’ of ‘other nations’ as depicted on television in as equally ‘un’; fortunate, timely, forgiving, fair, as her ‘is’, full of fortunate, full of time, full of forgiveness, fair.  A life without clean water seemed impossible to imagine in her mind.  One of those abstractions made by the miracles of film and television, kept at a distance by the sheer nature of ‘insulation for her own protection’ as an encroaching truth of that magnitude would annihilate the foundations of her ‘image world’ and leave things worse off than if she had never known ‘their’ faces, of whose lives remain caricatures of visual likeness in 30 second adverts and CNN clips.  Encroaching truth, like roaches, have surfaced within minutes of the fallen night, suspecting in the latest months and more so within the last 24 hours, that ‘they’ are real, beyond the Chromogenic photographs of National Geographic, silver halide emulsion eyes of the palest شين  of June 1985.  Not only parallel lines running into a divergent forest of distance-based grievances of cultural difference, but a life and blood woman on the cover of National Geographic June 1985 with four daughters, one having passed in infancy, she, Sherbat Gula, alive now, having survived the refugee camp in Pakistan, currently in Afghanistan, where Chelsea’s cousin Jeremy King unknowingly passed Sherbat on a 52 hour convoy comprised of 60 super-modern military vehicles with improvised Afghan fuel tankers traveling east en route to Peshawar, Pakistan, as Sherbat along with her husband and three daughters and other members of a Pashtun tribe traveling west to an unnamed region, on a road between Jalalabad and Batawul, in the moonlight of Afghanistan passed one another.  (The June 1985 issue, currently in an unrecollectable location.)  Not only has her extended bathroom introversion sessions become more frequent as of late but have begun to be ‘somewhat of a problem’ as half hours and forty five minutes pass easily into an hour to an hour and a half or more, until the retention and concentration of looking into the mirror combined with a slight musculoskeletal pain (of which she has come to believe a diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis this however is unconfirmed by anything beyond a subtle belief) and merely and simply, decides to leave the bathroom.  In the recent days her ‘gaze’ has left her in a Lacanian Haze more often than not as of late, running the gambit of definitions in cinematic theory.  Last Thursday, having spent an unaccounted 3 ½ hours in extra-degetic gaze, took a 2 hour dead sea lavender mineral bath, while drying off, got caught in a vortex gaze of ‘concentrated sensibleness of chromatic transitions’ for another 2 hours, brushed her teeth and moisturized, turned the lights off and called it a day.

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