Aura died in commodification, then reincarnated, then migrated.

She might well choose to see herself in a distant lover, in Paul Klee, in a Byredo candle, in Chris Marker’s films on pirated streaming sites, in quotes from people who wrote important books, and in translated labels of foreign supplements. Traveling feels the same as browsing through Google Maps. On paper she cries for her dead grandma, but she’s preoccupied with how dull her hair has looked lately..