Polling allows the pandemonium of human accordance to placate entropy, training ink spills and coordinated beeps announcing the crescendo of spent ideas, not content to lavishly dine on handshakes and head nods. Nein. Politicians are rather bringing agency to chaos, giving it a face and demeanor, encouraging the electorate to identify their body language to elected authorities, pondering on what it means when stoic pantsuit adorning models shed a tear, after revealing the deep set rehearsal of how-far-they’ve-come. Nothing demonstrates the human condition quite successfully as suffering does. Consider. An X made of duct tape, fastened to a stage, indicating to the speaker where they’ll stand to deliver their speech. A position illustrating facial segments, to deter shadows from contouring wrinkles, shading the brow in menacing overtones, or rather utilizing sunlight to drown out the laugh-lines aligned on their cheekbones, to hide age and joy through natural manipulations. 

Every bit is organized to encourage the vain expectations of treasured beauty. For if we see ourselves in them, we want them to be pretty, for that makes us pretty too…