Facial Mask Quotes

His facial hair served not just as a calendar but also as a mask, absorbing the stares of others while allowing him a little privacy in plain sight. "I can hide behind it, I can play to stereotypes and assumptions. One of the benefits of being labeled a hermit is that it permits me strange behavior.

I’d say if you’re using an avocado facial mask before you go to sleep, don’t complain when I want to bring tortilla chips to bed.

But Don you're still a human being, you still want to live, you crave connection and society, you know intellectually that you're no less worthy of connection and society than anyone else simply because of how you appear, you know that hiding yourself away out of fear of gazes is really giving in to a shame that is not required and that will keep you from the kind of life you deserve as much as the next girl, you know that you can't help how you look but that you are supposed to be able to help how much you care about how you look. You're supposed to be strong enough to exert some control over how much you want to hide, and you're so desperate to feel some kind of control that you settle for the appearance of control." "Your voice gets different when you talk about this—" "What you do is you hide your deep need to hide, and you do this out of the need to appear to other people as if you have the strength not to care how you appear to others. You stick your hideous face right in there into the wine-tasting crowd's visual meatgrinder, you smile so wide it hurts and put out your hand and are extra gregarious and outgoing and exert yourself to appear totally unaware of the facial struggles of people who are trying not to wince or stare or give away the fact that they can see that you're hideously, improbably deformed. You feign acceptance of your deformity. You take your desire to hide and conceal it under a mask of acceptance." "Use less words.

When it was his turn, he stood and launched into an animated speech in fake Japanese, complete with bizarre gestures and facial expressions. Normally impervious to embarrassment, I was mortified. Our Japanese hosts appeared more confused than offended. Luckily, the large amount of sake everyone consumed masked the slight breech of protocol, and everyone laughed. To this day I wonder what Eby’s speech sounded like to the Japanese PJs.

His slender hands curled into fists. “You don’t want to change? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through for you? Why do you think I keep coming back to that horrid, dirty, decaying world of yours? Because you changed me! It makes me sick to think of how I have shifted away from what I should be!” I leaned back, terrified of the pure fury in his face. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and releasing all the tension from his facial muscles, returning them back to the mask of perfection. “But this is irrelevant. When I get back to where I am supposed to be, my connection to eternity will be restored and flawless. I will be restored. And you will be connected, too, and we have forever to—” “Whoa, whoa, stop right there, psycho. I’m not coming with you.” He got that infuriating smile, that one that all faeries have that says they know more than you ever will and you can’t even begin to function on the same plane as them but isn’t it cute that you think you have any right to consider yourself a rational creature. It was a condescending head pat in smile form. “Evelyn,” he said, his golden voice trying to pull me in closer. “I love you.

It felt good to scrub my skin, as if I was removing everything that felt dead about me. I was the "queen of skin care." Who knew that simply exfoliating my skin until raw (which I knew better than to do but now couldn't resist) would one day be what was left of my skin care regimen? My daily cleansing and moisturizing, weekly hydrating and purifying masks, along with monthly photo facials, glycolic peels, or microdermabrasion, was down to "super-scrub Saturdays." Pampering was a thing of the past. No more sunscreen applications to guard against the "UVAging" rays that were out to get me 365 days a year. No more weekly Epsom salts hot baths to detox my body, or lathering up with my favorite vanilla-scented moisturizing cream. No more applications of extra virgin olive oil to the ends of my hair to prevent splitting. I didn't even treat myself to my bedtime chamomile tea. All that had been replaced by a new nightly ritual of passing out on the bed, face down, which went against my cardinal rule of youth maintenance. Before the deep hollow pain was born inside me, I slept on my back, at the perfect thirty-degree angle to ensure proper circulation and prevention of any unnecessary creasing or wrinkling.

I wanted to be Feinberg's student, but I didn't know how to go about it. Since it was premature for formal arrangements and since I was naturally reticent and shy, I simply began to greet him very politely whenever our paths crossed. Graduate school was a small community. In corridors and elevators and on campus, I was soon running into Feinberg several times a day, always giving him a polite hello and a nice smile. He would reciprocate similarly with a sort of nervous curling of the lips. As time passed, this limbo of flirtatious foreplay continued unabated. I could never find the courage to broach the question of being his student; I supposed I must have hoped it would just happen wordlessly. Every time I saw him I smiled; every time I smiled he bared his lips back at me with greater awkwardness. Our facial manipulations bore increasingly less resemblance to anything like a real smile; each of our reciprocated gestures was a caricature, a Greek theatrical mask signaling friendliness. One day, on about the fifth intersection of our paths on that particular day, I could stand it no longer. I saw him heading towards me down one of the long dark, old-fashioned Pupin corridors, and immediately turned towards the nearest stairwell and went up one floor to avoid him. Having succeeded at this once, I was compelled to do it repeatedly. Soon I was moving upstairs or downstairs to another floor as soon as I saw him approaching, like the protagonist in some ghastly version of the video game Lode Runner.

She keeps her fingers on Faye’s face. Faye closes her eyes against tears. When she opens them Julie is still looking at her. She’s smiling a wonderful smile. Way past twenty. She takes Faye’s hands.“‘Then tell them to look closely at men’s faces. Tell them to stand perfectly still, for time, and to look into the face of a man. A man’s face has nothing on it. Look closely. Tell them to look. And not at what the faces do–men’s faces never stop moving–they’re like antennae. But all the faces do is move through different configurations of blankness.’ Faye looks for Julie’s eyes in the mirror. Julie says, ‘Tell them there are no holes for your fingers in the masks of men. Tell them how could you ever even hope to have what you can’t grab onto.’ Julie turns her makeup chair and looks up at Faye. ‘That’s when I love you, if I love you,’ she whispers, running a finger down her white powdered cheek, reaching to trace an angled line of white onto Faye’s own face. 'Is when your face moves into expression. Try to look out from yourself, different, all the time. Tell people that you know your face is at least pretty at rest.’ 'You asked me once how poems informed me,’ she says. Almost a whisper–her microphone voice. 'And you asked whether we, us, depended on the game, to even be. Baby?’–lifting Faye’s face with one finger under the chin–'Remember? Remember the ocean? Our dawn ocean, that we loved? We loved it because it was like us, Faye. That whole ocean was obvious. We were looking at something obvious, the whole time.’ She pinches a nipple, too softly for Faye even to feel. 'Oceans are only oceans when they move,’ Julie whispers. 'Waves are what keep oceans from just being very big puddles. Oceans are just their waves. And every wave in the ocean is finally going to meet what it moves toward, and break. The whole thing we looked at, the whole time you asked, was obvious. It was obvious and a poem because it was us. See things like that, Faye. Your own face, moving into expression. A wave, breaking on a rock, giving up its shape in a gesture that expresses that shape. See?’ It wasn’t at the beach that Faye had asked about the future. It was in Los Angeles. And what about the anomalous wave that came out of nowhere and broke on itself? Julie is looking at Faye. 'See?’ Faye’s eyes are open. They get wide. 'You don’t like my face at rest?

EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT MUSIC "When you’re improvising and you hit a bad note, hit it again a few times. Own the note, shine your brights on it, let everyone know you are up to something. The Law of Facial Control holds that 90% of the audience is evaluating your performance with the wrong organs anyway. Dilute and mask, not for your comfort but for theirs. Everybody wants to be lied to sometimes, which is to say, cared for. Other times, well. My lover: If I smile naturally, suspect I’m up to something. My friends: If I ever kiss all of you, you’ll know I’ve just made a terrible mistake.

If I was really old and tired of living I think I'd overdose on Viagra. Death by boner sounds pretty cool. They'd have to saw it off if they wanted to give me a closed casket. I'd have only my dick cremated and as my final wish ask that a handful of it be thrown in the face of Mila Kunis. A facial from beyond the grave. She's so hot that I bet she gets that a lot. Probably walks around with goggles and those white disposable masks so she doesn't breathe in too much dick dust as relatives of deceased men keep her in a perpetual cloud. Dick Dust would make a good radio name. "This one's going out to Mila ...

You have got to do the shiatsu. I had one back home a month ago. Fantastic.” Marisa Finley frowned under her carrot-ginger-turmeric facial mask. “What’s a shiatsu?” It sounded like an unusual breed of dog. "I’m taking my shiatsu to the groomers this week to have it shampooed and blow-dried. And possibly beribboned.

There was something growing in me. Something far more than the festering hate that had begun too many years ago. This girl that sits obediently in the bath, awaiting her master's return was just an image, a picture in a book with no accompanying explanation. She sits in silence, she answers his questions and she succumbs his touches without complaint. But in the dark recesses of her mind something continues to thrive. Like a switch flipped it had changed her from the pathetic, frightened girl into a soulless demon playing a sickening game. Dragging him in with her acquiesce until she could chew him up and spit him out. My mouth twitched involuntarily. A low panic started, my heart rate accelerating instantly, that pounding of rushing blood echoing in my ears. I sat still, concentrating on my mask. Isolating every single individual facial muscle I could find and shouting them down one by one. I had not had a slip up like this in a year. Wearing a mask so long it had changed from uncomfortable to normal.

Can you describe for me the tastes that you experienced as you said those words?" "Certainly. Mashed peas, dried apples, wine gum, weak tea, butter unsalted, Walkers crisps..."Mr. Roland replied. What I was experiencing at that moment wasn't an out-of-body experience. It was an in-another-body experience. Everything but this man and me had faded into darkness. He and I were at the two ends of a brightly lit tunnel. We were point A and point B. The tunnel was the most direct, straight-line route between the two points. I had never experienced recognition in this pure, undiluted form. It was a mirroring. It was a fact. It was a cord pulled taut between us. Most of all, it was no longer a secret. I don't remember getting up, but I must have. I do remember kneeling in front of the TV. I touched the image of Mr. Roland's face as his words jumped, swerved, coalesced, attacked, and revealed. As the interview continued, he became more comfortable with the interviewer, and his facial tics and rapid blinking lessened. He masked what he couldn't control by taking long sips from a glass of water (or perhaps the clear liquid was gin). He also turned his head slightly and coughed into his left hand, which provided him with a second or two of privacy. It soon became clear to Mr. Roland and to me that the interviewer wanted him to perform for the camera. After each question-and-answer exchange, the interviewer would ask him for the tastes of her words and then his. Mr. Roland was oddly obliging, much more so than I would have been in his position. I soon realized that his pool of experiential flavors, in other words his actual food intake, was very British and that he didn't venture far from home for his gastronomical needs. "Curry fries" was the most unusual taste that this piano tuner from Manchester listed. The word "employment" triggered it, he told the interviewer. I said "employment" aloud and tasted olives from a can, which meant I tasted more can than olives. I felt more than a tinge of envy.

When topically applied to the skin as a facial mask, yogurt moisturizes, fights acne, prevents premature aging, relieves sunburn and reduces discoloration.

Last time Father got this way, he’d made me wear a facial mask each time I left the house to avoid breathing contagions. While I’d like to fancy myself above things such as vanity, I’d hated the stares I’d received when venturing out. Going through that again would be torturous.

Entering the room, Kylo Ren moved to join them. “Finding the flaw in your training methods won’t help recover the droid.” Although his mask concealed his facial expression, the rage simmering below his calm demeanor was almost palpable. “And yet, there are larger concerns,” Hux insisted. It was evident from both Hux’s tone and body language that he held no love for the newcomer. The feeling was mutual; neither took pains to hide his contempt.

Grace leaned forward, studying him up close, able to make out some of his facial features in the clay mask: strong brow, broad cheekbones, prominent jawline and chin. As a flavorist, she was familiar with kaolin clay, a virtually tasteless edible mineral often used as an anti-caking agent in processed foods, various toothpastes, and originally kaopectate. But she'd never encountered the raw product out of the lab, and certainly not like this. She leaned closer to him. He smelled of sediment and mostly sweat, a decidedly masculine note, the precise replication of which one could base an entire career, and then some. Even the most skilled perfumers in the world, experts in the animal secrets of civet and ambergris, couldn't get it just right. It was a human thing. And she'd studied it, androstadienone and most of the known male pheromones, and she knew the effects certain concentrates could have on certain women. She'd written the reports and seen the CT scans of activity in women's brains. Still, knowing about it intellectually and rationally did not in any way lessen what it was doing to her right now, the effect it was having on her senses and her body. 'Can he tell?' she wondered. Lean and broad-shouldered, he had the build of a man who spent his days using his body in labor. She could see it in the way the mud set into the ridged musculature of his forearms, like the russeting across a firm apple. Still, the inner details of him escaped her. His hair was caked with dry clay, and she thought of the figures she'd seen artists craft in their hillside studios in Montmartre, with the Sacre-Coeur church on the summit above and the bawdy Moulin Rouge crowds teeming below. He looked like that, an unglazed unfinished sculpture of a man, but for his eyes, vast and deep, and very much alive, as if he were trapped inside his statued body.

The perceptive power of the brain in this undirected mode is so strong that it seems to border on a kind of telepathy. Test subjects can tell winning poker hands, for example, by watching two-second clips of professional players moving their chips to the center of the table to place a bet. Players with winning hands were almost imperceptibly smoother and looser in their body movements. (Their faces were unobservable in the study. A separate study found that facial expression—which is easy to mask—did not help observers judge the strength of a hand at all.) And the same is true of athletes: If you show basketball players a brief video of fellow players taking a free throw, roughly two-thirds of the time they can determine whether or not he will make the shot, based solely on the movement of the arm. There is something about grace that tells athletes what is about to happen. In short, quicker, more efficient movement gives small fighters an advantage over large ones, and unconscious perceptions allow them to see punches before they have been launched. Were either not true, larger fighters would regularly crush small ones, but they don't. This allows humans to confront or disobey the largest male in the group, which is a departure from millions of years of primate evolution.

Have you ever heard the adage that dogs resemble their owners? Another interesting study conducted in 2009 by Sadahiko Nakajima, a psychologist at Japan’s Kwansei Gakuin University whose research on dog-owner resemblance has gained notoriety, found that people do indeed resemble their dogs. At a rate significantly higher than chance, people were able to match dog owners with their dogs. In a set of experiments that involved masking various parts of the dogs’ heads and their owners’ faces, Nakajima also discovered that more than 500 participants were able to correctly identify the pet-human connection to a specific facial feature: the eyes of both the dog and its owner.

Export Credit Guarantees.‘After all, Madame Nhu is asking a thousand dollars an interview, in this case we can insist on five and get it. Damn it, this is The Man . . . ’ The brain dulls. An exhibition of atrocity photographs rouses a flicker of interest. Meanwhile, the quasars burn dimly from the dark peaks of the universe. Standing across the room from Catherine Austin, who watches him with guarded eyes, he hears himself addressed as ‘Paul’, as if waiting for clandestine messages from the resistance headquarters of World War III. Five Hundred Feet High. The Madonnas move across London like immense clouds. Painted on clapboard in the Mantegna style, their composed faces gaze down on the crowds watching from the streets below. Several hundred pass by, vanishing into the haze over the Queen Mary Reservoir, Staines, like a procession of marine deities. Some remarkable entrepreneur has arranged this tour de force; in advertising circles everyone is talking about the mysterious international agency that now has the Vatican account. At the Institute Dr Nathan is trying to sidestep the Late Renaissance. ‘Mannerism bores me. Whatever happens,’ he confides to Catherine Austin, ‘we must keep him off Dali and Ernst.’ Gioconda. As the slides moved through the projector the women’s photographs, in profile and full face, jerked one by one across the screen. ‘A characteristic of the criminally insane,’ Dr Nathan remarked, ‘is the lack of tone and rigidity of the facial mask.’ The audience fell silent. An extraordinary woman had appeared on the screen. The planes of her face seemed to lead towards some invisible focus, projecting an image that lingered on the walls, as if they were inhabiting her skull. In her eyes glowed the forms of archangels. ‘That one?’ Dr Nathan asked quietly. ‘Your mother? I see.

Yeah, but how did you do it?” I broke in. Dahmer, again composed, lit another cigarette before he answered. “It did take a long time, about two hours. I used a small, very sharp paring knife. I think I saw it in one of the Polaroids. Anyway, I started by making an incision from the top of his head down the back of his neck. Then I carefully cut along the skull. It was a little tricky around the ears and nose.” I picked up the photo. It was shocking and compelling at the same time. “Yeah, Jeff, but how did you get the skin to come off so completely?” He shrugged his shoulders. “It was really no big deal. The skin is detachable, just like pulling the skin off a chicken you are about to cook.” Dahmer explained that human skin peeled off easily if he made the correct incision. He was very careful to detach the victim’s facial skin in one piece. “I wrapped it around my own face and looked through his eye holes. It was like wearing a mask.

One of East Africa's best-kept skincare secrets is Qasil powder. Qasil is a fine powder made from the leaves of the Gob tree, which is endemic to Somalia and is popular among Somali women. This fine powder is loaded with nutrients that help the skin and hair detox. It draws impurities from beneath the skin's surface, aids in the healing of obstinate breakouts, and dramatically reduces the appearance of pores and dark spots when used as a face mask for women. Where to Buy qasil powder? When preparing your own DIY facial mask, this is a must-have ingredient so it deeply cleanses, balances, and purifies the skin. It's also popular for gently exfoliating, hydrating, and leaving the skin soft and supple. Qasil powder skin benefits appearance while also providing a natural glow. INGREDIENTS THAT CAN BE USED TO Form A Disguise WITH QASIL Turmeric powder can aid in the healing of acne and the fading of dark spots ( for oily skin ) Sandalwood Powder is used to give the skin a healthy glow. Huda organics – to promote overall skin health, combat early indications of ageing, and work wonders on fine wrinkles. Rose water is used to tone the skin and aid in the deep washing process. Honey is used to rejuvenate the skin. The use of a face mask skin care is one of the most important processes that many women overlook or misunderstand. Some women are unable to choose the appropriate product for their skin type, while others are unaware of new products that can improve their skincare routine. So, if you're not sure what the best face masks for women in India are, or which skin types they suit, here's a list of items to help you make smarter grooming decisions in the future. Throughout the classical era, herbal medicine and its active constituents have been a trusted source of medicine. As in treatment of symptoms, herbal supplements including plant based remedies in raw state or their bioactive substances are gaining popularity [1]. Plants are abundant in medicinal chemicals, and practically every part of a plant can be used as medicine in some fashion. Flowers, fruits, seeds, roots, leaves, bark, and other parts seem to be the most widely used. Due to the rise in disease kinds, resilience to existing drugs, and need for drugs with fewer complications, there has been a push to use mainstream science / concepts to find the greatest source of medicine. So you should buy organic qasil powder from Huda Organics, which is located in the United Kingdom, ST Westend, London, WC2H 9JQ. You can reach us at 7566209608 or via email at info@hudaorganics.com.

People tend to wear the mask that shows them off in the best possible light—humble, confident, diligent. They say the right things, smile, and seem interested in our ideas. They learn to conceal their insecurities and envy. If we take this appearance for reality, we never really know their true feelings, and on occasion we are blindsided by their sudden resistance, hostility, and manipulative actions. Fortunately, the mask has cracks in it. People continually leak out their true feelings and unconscious desires in the nonverbal cues they cannot completely control—facial expressions, vocal inflections, tension in the body, and nervous gestures. You must master this language by transforming yourself into a superior reader of men and women. Armed with this knowledge, you can take the proper defensive measures. On the other hand, since appearances are what people judge you by, you must learn how to present the best front and play your role to maximum effect.

This formula, which should last for several uses, feels as fresh and clean as a spa facial—at a fraction of the cost! ½ cup garbanzo (chickpea) flour 1½ tablespoons turmeric Odorless cooking oil Water Mix the flour and turmeric in a container with a tight fitting lid. Keep it in a dry place in or near the bathroom. To make the mask, mix about 1 tablespoon of the flour mixture in a small dish with about 5 drops of oil. Add enough water to make a paste. It should be the consistency of cake batter.

People tend to wear the mask that shows them off in the best possible light - humble, confident, diligent. They say the right things, smile, and seem interested in our ideas. They learn to conceal their insecurities and envy. [...] People continually leak out their true feelings and unconscious desires in the nonverbal cues they cannot completely control--facial expressions, vocal inflections, tension in the body, and nervous gestures. [...] On the other hand, since appearances are what people judge you by, you must learn how to present the best front and play your role to maximum effect.

Something like a mask or blind over the right side of my face appears to be coming loose. I can feel the cheek muscles rippling under the skin, and facial nerves twitching, a sense of energy currents inside my body being aligned and balanced. When I let go within, feelings of great peacefulness, a soft breathing in the heart, gently approaching knots of contraction or pain. Out of a hard nugget of pain somewhere, a serenely exploding flare of light energy spreads throughout the body. The softly ascending light flare consists of sparkling jewels and precious stones, as if the pain had been a locked-up treasure chest that was suddenly unlocked. I am shown that if I can make certain sounds, the vibrations can actually disintegrate crystallized nuggets of pain or tension. Continued perception of ascending and descending glissandos, as if on a harp, but soundless, kinaesthetic, synaesthetic, soothing, healing (RM).

Aside from evidence for proactive violence among contemporary hunter-gatherers, two thorny facts don’t entirely square with the view that we stopped fighting ever since we became hunter-gatherers. The first fact is muscle. The average adult man today is 12 to 15 percent heavier than the average adult woman, but women have much higher percentages of body fat masking underlying differences in muscle mass. Whole-body scans show that males average 61 percent more muscle mass then females, with most of that difference in the upper body.30 Men’s extra brawn, moreover, is added during puberty, when testosterone levels shoot up, accelerating muscle growth in the arms, shoulders, and neck.31 In this regard, human men resemble male kangaroos, whose upper bodies also enlarge during adolescence to help them fight.32 Enhanced upper-body muscularity in male humans might also have been selected for hunting, but we cannot rule out aggression. The second fact is literally staring us in the face. Consider the faces of assorted males in the genus Homo lined up for you in figure 16. Note that until about 100,000 years ago, even in some of the earliest Homo sapiens, males tend to have massive, heavily built faces and menacingly large browridges. The earliest H. sapiens males have smaller, less robust faces than Neanderthals and other non-modern humans, but truly lightly built, “feminized” faces don’t appear until less than 100,000 years ago.33 It is intriguing to hypothesize that these big faces reflect higher levels of testosterone during adolescence. In males today, elevated testosterone contributes to not only higher libidos, more impulsivity, and more reactive aggression but also bigger browridges and larger faces.34 Another molecule that possibly affects facial masculinization is the neurotransmitter serotonin, which reduces aggression; less masculinized faces are associated with higher levels of serotonin.35

WHAT EXACTLY ARE the benefits of Face Mask One of the most magical skincare concoctions available is the face epidermis mask. Deploying it even more than a every week basis is not hard and simple ways to obtain healthy and supple epidermis. In just a brief while of need, you will instantly feel softer and smoother epidermis. Face masks are suited to different epidermis types and years and that means you really can visit a whole lot of selections for your own epidermis. It’s a must-have item in your beauty strategy. So in addition to that, what exactly are the benefits associated with face mask? To start with, it refines your pores. Deploying it at least one time a week can help you get clearer epidermis with more enhanced pores. This skincare product also deeply cleanses your skin pores and can help you be rid of dead epidermis skin cells. Oftentimes, you will feel your skin layer pulsating when the facial skin mask cleanses your skin layer. Face masks can also increase your skin’s hydration. Things wedding ring true, especially on hydrating face masks. They generate moisture content and hydration that will deeply penetrate to your epidermis. That is why it instantly softens and enhances your skin’s elasticity. This nose and mouth mask is the foremost someone to apply if you have dehydrated epidermis. Together with the snooze, face masks help you achieve firmer epidermis. As you era, your skin will lose some of its drinking water and vitamins and your skin’s natural functions will also slow down. However, when you constantly apply a face mask, your skin’s natural functions will get back and your collagen creation is also improved. With this, your skin is strengthened and you have a firmer, tighter, and younger-looking epidermis. So choose good nose and mouth mask - one that will add value to your daily life. It’s a assured step to healthier and younger-looking epidermis!

Then social mores had intervened. A distinct scene from junior high flushes vividly back. Girls sitting out of rotation volleyball in gym class stared at me all gap-mouthed when—of a rainy spring day—I spouted e. e. cummings. Through open green gym doors, sheets of rain erased the parking lot we normally stood staring at as if it were a refrigerator about to manifest food. The poem started: in Just-: spring when the world is mud- luscious… As I went on, Kitty Stanley sat cross-legged in black gym shorts and white blouse, peeling fuchsia polish off her thumbnail with a watchmaker’s precision. She was a mouth breather, Kitty, whose blond bouffant hairdo featured above her bangs a yarn bow the color of a kumquat. That it? Beverly said. Her black-lined gaze looked like an old-timey bandit mask. Indeed, I said. (This was my assholish T. S. Eliot stage circa ninth grade, when I peppered my speech with words I thought sounded British like indeed.) Is that a word, muddy delicious? Kitty said. Mud-luscious, I said. Not no real word, Beverly said, leaning back on both hands, legs crossed. I studied a volleyball arcing white across the gym ceiling and willed it to smash into Beverly’s freakishly round head. It’s squashing together luscious and lush and delicious, and all of it applied to spring mud. It’s poetic license, I said. I think it’s real smart how you learn every word so they come out any time you please, Kitty said. Beverly snorted. I get mud all over Bobby’s truck flaps, and believe you me, delicious don’t figure in. As insults go, it was weak, but Beverly’s facial expression—like she was smelling something—told me to put poetry right back where I’d drug it out from.

My facial muscles were so tensed from the strain that I actually felt it was impossible to smile. Whit a shock I realized that the faces of my squad mates and everyone around me looked mask like and unfamiliar

My facial muscles were so tensed from the strain that I actually felt it was impossible to smile. Whit a shock I realized that the faces of my squad mates and everyone around me looked mask like and unfamiliar.

Several figures wearing light scattering masks designed to defeat facial-recognition algorithm stormed about. Some toted phase EMP carronades. The international district of Indianapolis was once the side of town that suffered from benign neglect of city officials. Property values plummeted, money enough to rebrand the area and immigrants moved in. And flourished. Through LISC, the city found money enough to rebrand the area the International District. This grew into the international marketplace, which soon housed several embassies once the nation’s capital shifted to the booming metropolis.

His eyes were so blue, and his teeth so yellow, that the overall impression was that his face was green. And it was, as he was wearing a guacamole facial mask.

The Flower’s greatest champion, when all was said and done, would prove to be the German professor Hildegard Hammerschmidt-Hummel, the same scholar who put forth the theory the Droeshout might have been copied from a death mask. In 2002 Hammerschmidt-Hummel had just completed a six-year research project with the German FBI and a Justice League team of scientists that attempted to employ crime-solving facial-recognition technology to establish the consistencies of facial features within a select number of accepted images of William Shakespeare. Her study would eventually lead her to make some interesting accusations, one of which involved portrait switchery.