S̶e̶a̶n̶’s Reviews > Alice Knott > Status Update

Even the future, as it happens, feels more like a revision of what was meant to be than original events, pasted in and crossed out over and over so many times beforehand that when it actually arrives, it bears the same wear as all the rest, long rolled over and disremembered, left to suffer—

And, at the National Gallery in London, still in the same day, Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh (1888) is spray-painted over in neon pink with the words THE SHIT OF LORD, injecting the phrase into the public lexicon as it replicates uncensored through our screens, destined to become trivia.

Consumption made Alice's hours seem to blur both going forward and in reverse, giving time a graceless and yet transfixing texture held up against how it had begun to seem, inside of which she learned not only to disregard the trauma of dislocation, but to become it.

The longer she spent inside the temporary corridors of medication, the more natural the relief seemed, as if no brain were ever meant to go untampered, in the name of taking reign over the illusion of one's life.