There’s regularly an endless supply of ignorant ramblings coming from behind me. A constant hum of ‘fuck’ in a multitude of languages, a disregard to cultural relativity and geographical location, and a particular lack of responsibility for occupation. It’s been a long afternoon with one casting taking almost two hours including travel time, only to assemble in militaristic line, and get not so much as a look. The nature of the game. My mind now wanders from the potential job at hand and I consider my options in life. They seem endless in such a youthful mind. Thank god, the ideas breeding are plentiful.

I wonder why we relish these people so? This is a rhetorical question because the answer is as obvious as obvious as their beauty, and in fact one in the same. It’s the way of the Western World- idolising artificially created beauty. Even when you start with a palate with an abundance of characteristic allure, it has become a commonplace necessity to add to it. In this process I think everything becomes much of a muchness. Unique beauties become mass produced products, raped of any remaining originality. 

Avoiding the conversation present I have buried my head amongst the pages of Richard Branson’s autobiography. It makes one feel both small and inspired. Drowning out the noise behind me with Pink Floyd makes for an epically suited soundtrack to ponder such things.