Professional heartbreakers pirouette gracefully around you as self-sufficient entities needing no additional qualities- they already have the best. They leave behind a psychological trail of trigger words, a philosophy, a specific color, a Hapsburg Empire of references to reel your interests into a sublimated loop. Their victims are the inculcated until they are not. Your understanding of truth and beauty becomes “Beauty is shoe, shoe beauty…” You always thought Warhol was an asshole and now you’re reading his entire oeuvre to understand his genius, how he cracked the code, and gained the qualities he always wanted.
“Zwischen kante, slowdive und der sinatra-tochter…” becomes a riddle of wisdom representing the ribbed dimensions of a key opening the mysteries of a soul. The loosely chosen and uncapitalized words written in lackadaisical haste gets pondered upon until finally you realize… fuck, it’s just a list of bands. “Zwischen kante” will always be more interesting than the actual Kante.
Kante begins to seem like the most beautiful German word, something you need more of having had too much of Kant in your past. You start asking Germans if they’ve heard of the band Kante, separating people into the great Kante divide.
Eventually, Warhol’s philosophy gets understood and the repetition of the words “zwischen kante” makes it less and less meaningful until its archived. Heartbreaker goes on breaking hearts, and you can finally leave the Hapsburg Empire behind. Beauty is no longer shoe.