The young man will smile on the canvas for as long as the canvas lasts. Blood throbs under the skin of this woman’s face, the wind shakes a branch, a group of men prepare to leave. In a novel or a film, the young man will stop smiling, but he will start to smile again when we turn to this page or that moment. Art preserves, and it is the only thing in the world that is preserved. It preserves and is preserved in itself, although actually it lasts no longer than its support and materials– stone, canvas, chemical color, and so on. The young girl maintains the pose that she has had for five thousand years, a gesture that no longer depends on whoever made it. The air still has the turbulence, the gust of wind, and the light that it had that day last year, and it no longer depends on whoever was breathing it that morning.
—Gilles Deleuze
GIR: Remember that commercial for the puddin' where the kid eats the puddin' and he turns into puddin' and he flies around the room? That was scary.
Zim: Silence! I remember that commercial and it was upsetting so speak no more of it! They never show the kid turn back so you're all, "Is he trapped as pudding forever?" Awful.
Zim: Silence! I remember that commercial and it was upsetting so speak no more of it! They never show the kid turn back so you're all, "Is he trapped as pudding forever?" Awful.
Did you think that because they were quiet this was over? Isn't that when you're supposed to worry, when the guys in suits and symbols disappear all at once? They didn't go anywhere, kids. You did. The world doesn't just freeze when you close your eyes.
—M defying this trope, LG15: Anchor Cove, "Whatever Happened To lonelygirl15?"
