The affectless gaze, the diffracted grace, the bored languor, the wasted pallor, the chic freakiness, the basically passive astonishment, the enthralling secret knowledge, the chintzy joy, the revelatory tropisms, the chalky, puckish mask, the slightly Slavic look, the childlike, gum-chewing naivete, the glamour rooted in despair, the self-admiring carelessness, the perfected otherness, the wispiness, the shadowy, voyeuristic, vaguely sinister aura, the pale, soft-spoken magical presence, the skin and bones, the albino-chalk skin, parchment-like, reptilian, almost blue, the knobby knees, the roadmap of scars, the long bony arms, so white they look bleached, the arresting hands, the pinhead eyes, the banana ears, the graying lips, the shaggy silver-white hair, soft and metallic, the cords of the neck standing out around the big Adam’s apple, it’s all there, nothing is missing, I’m everything my scrapbook says I am.