Generation Zero is sick with mortality. Our mixed-media existence: beauty brutality. Through waning planes of live-in frames, we’ve been rendered tired, trenchant and tranced. A sorceress sleuthing for everlasting youth, Mary Whitney gets a clue: regenerative fusion and deep-tissue illusion.
Free yourself from the bondage of science, for wellness is psychic, and verity’s vague. The allurement of spa ritual is rooted in baptismal grace. Through multiple movements, repetitive and rapt, your aura augments and your pores can contract!
Mary Whitney fondles an LED field neutralizer. Glowing is knowing, and seeing the light is only half as real as feeling. If feelings are frivolous, this orb’s light is chivalrous. “Get third-eye moisture and tap into time reversal.” Witchy wisdom from Whitney, upon repeat rehearsal.
Avoiding humidity is a sign of stupidity, and Mary Whitney sees the writing in the water. Dragging her cold medicines to the trash, our heroine inflates with an herbal haze. It’s steamier, sexier, and a wizard’s wand to wrinkles (both real and in one’s future gaze). A follow-up neutral nap with aromatic beaded lap is a soothing and rejuvenating riposte between acts, especially those demanding rigorous bath.
Why would Whitney walk away if she could wax and stay in place? A soak and an alchemical peel access the soul within soles and smooth heels. Micro-vibration and deep-tissue alleviation stimulate circulation to leave the body one nation. It’s an anti-viral restoration. Doesn’t she look like she’s been on vacation?
A final farewell to our mortal fears (of future faces amassed with years), a Tempur-Pedic séance is music to our ears. Au revoir, Ouija Board; Whitney conjures the dead in comfort. The sleep state induced by a candlelit capsule penetrates purgatory with serious serenity. Skeptical? Séance for yourself.
Will Whitney awake or is she under a spell?
The answer is that she has, and she is. Her youth tells.