Upon Wings of Ink
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Who are the truly blessed of our society? Who do we value, and why do we value them? For some, the comfort of faith gives no reason for inquisition. Others find warmth in the pursuit of knowledge. There remains a third party, a forgotten party that live in the wasteland between the poles. This is the story of Dinah Dempster, a woman cresting the age of thirty, shredding her provocative dress for wadded bills. She feels the claustrophobia of simplicity upon one side and the shredding of her remaining innocence on the other. She is so remarkable and so ordinary, so equally unique and pedestrian,...
Who are the truly blessed of our society? Who do we value, and why do we value them? For some, the comfort of faith gives no reason for inquisition. Others find warmth in the pursuit of knowledge. There remains a third party, a forgotten party that live in the wasteland between the poles. This is the story of Dinah Dempster, a woman cresting the age of thirty, shredding her provocative dress for wadded bills. She feels the claustrophobia of simplicity upon one side and the shredding of her remaining innocence on the other. She is so remarkable and so ordinary, so equally unique and pedestrian, so welcomed and so outcast. Amid the thundering house music, senses softened by the sips of seven dollar drinks, you stare with unblinking eyes upon Dinah's decadent form of beauty and filth. For ten dollars she dances in your lap. As she leaves with your money in hand, she is cemented in your mind as a thing, an object. What would be Dinah's description as she sits in judgment of you?
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