The comb is ritual and order embedded with violence, femininity
with teeth turned inward. I am tired of combs that make smooth patterns on some
kind of satisfying surface. I hate Magritte’s comb.
Let the comb be what it is: a weapon. Let the cradle be a weapon, too. Know that every act of care and order contains a dose of menace. It has to—it’s the only way to get the job done.
Let the comb be what it is: a weapon. Let the cradle be a weapon, too. Know that every act of care and order contains a dose of menace. It has to—it’s the only way to get the job done.
