by strangedayonplanetearth

I can’t tell them apart anymore.  Everything is blinding blue, or red.  They died, or their parents died.  But their fathers worked in a bottle factory.  Or a can factory.  Something with containers.

But they loved their mother.  We all love mothers.  Something about mothers.

They all seem slightly drunk.  It’s blue, or red.

Condoleezza Rice in a pink dress.  She talks about war.  I think she’s in favor of it.  I was waiting for her to talk about her mother; it was distracting.  She says, “Self esteem comes from achievement, not from lax standards and false praise.”  She looks like she’s about to cry.