Dirty Dior: the Epic of Neo-girl – Luca Dubroca

November 20, 2025

i.
in the beginning everything was art. genderless, omnipresent, pure. the creative city thrived proudly. a city so grand Baghdad was put to shame. it was a peaceful time. a true egoless democracy. where art ruled with purity, and justice. the people bowed down to the righteousness of art. structures of absolute grandeur, kaleidoscopic sand dunes spread till the edge, flowers hand planted by Morpheus, the land’s litanies were sung under the azure sky, geometric holy palaces. art’s constant metamorphosis conjured the collective unconscious. cognitive bridges. winds bloomed of serenity. order was the only currency. there was a calm sea, void of waves. and art was certain. until one day the oracle ascended. a prophecy rattled the calm sea. the tides withered in circular motion. high tides, low tides moving simultaneously. horses rushed out the saltwater gates. they thrashed, they neighed in all directions, ferociously galloping, white fire sprouting out the clear soil. a pearl-like egg was birthed out of the chaos. art began to worry for the order. it couldn’t destroy the egg without destroying the city. so the people simply looked on, leaders turned voyeurs of chaos. they covered their mouths in awe/horror at the legion of horses. the egg grew in size, commanding space from the water. a pearl the size of a small castle. one day the cracks began, the smallest chip let out the sharpest screech. the cracks grew in size, energy beams plunged out to the city. destruction. death. art gulped absinthe in premonition. the people cowered in fear, now all hiding in the keep. the energy beams strengthened, but the horses simmered down. the sea bent the knee. and the egg had finished its nourishment. birth was destined. horses sat like dogs in rows, fixating the spectacle. the people left the keep as silence stained the air, a quietness not heard since before the great chaos. stillness of murderous intent cloaked the city. the pearl/egg split open. and neo-girl was born! the horses licked her feet in absolute submission and the people injected with euphoria chanted : holy chaos, holy pride, holy suffering, holy angel(fallen), holy virgin, holy seraphim…
Holy The Birth Of The Messiah.

ii.
Neo-girl is christlike
Neo-girl is hallucinatory
Neo-girl is rebellion
Neo-girl is desolation
Neo-girl is beauty
Neo-girl is cunt
Neo-girl is evil
Neo-girl is your saviour

iii.
A white babe. Blue lights. White snow. Six legs. Hungry spiders. Insatiable needs. Fashion party. Exclusivity orgy. The model dances for your eyes only. The model gets naked. Exposing her pearly breasts. She’s at your service, showing her cervix. Inject her with fame. She’ll paint the runway crimson.

LIGHTS.
ACTION.

iv.
She dives in the pool of opium (kissing the waters that birthed her).

v.
Bling, white veneers all over the floor
Pearls drop, it’s snowing in the club
A model falling in Christian Dior
Toothless model, snow vacuum
White hieroglyphics
She’s crawling all over the floor, looking for the shiny pearls
“Dirty Dior, Dirty Dior”
It’s freezing but not a shiver in sight
Crazy eyed, looking for the final pearl
She snorts saintliness
Finds enlightenment in excrement
Fuck the pearl
The sexy gorgon gets up
Tall, diamond eyes, inverted waist
The model laughs with no veneers
Snow all over her face
Haute couture seamed with dirt
Numb beauty crimson red
Picasso’s final breath
“I’m chic, chic, chic, chic…”
Starvin’ she licks the snow off her face
Like a cannibal licks blood
She flails her arms like hanged sinners
Acid all in her gut
Melting the snow
Puke suddenly all over the Galliano heels
She laughs, cocking her head back violently, vomit keeps falling
Fumes bubbling
Let’s go for a swim, she bellows
As she does the back crawl, liquid keeps pouring
Filling up the room
Sinking everyone down
Designer, diamonds, dresses, all melting
Puddles of silver and gold
Floating on the orange land
The celebrities weep of horror
The spotlight’s suicide,
“creative destitutes” she spits
The model cries from laughter
The fluids now caress the ceiling
She takes her last breath and dives beautifully
The model sinks, but keeps laughing, and laughing, till she suffocates on her own pearl, and the flood swallows the rich and poor alike, the sinful and the righteous, leaving behind a pulsating trace of her broken laugh smudged in the fabric of the club.