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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


06.08.01

In my passport pictures, I'm a doll (or dead), glossy skin and lips, pale under long black bangs, eyes fixed beneath brows, arched as if surprised by death.

...

The salt-spiked greasy smell of Chinese take-out permeates the photo shop, which specializes in restoration of/and photos for visas, alien resident cards, and passports. The Indian woman behind the counter is indifferent to my inquisitive presence as I examine, nose grazing glass, framed sets of restored photos hanging on the walls. Before and after.

...

In one photo, two old white men smile. The accompanying image reveals absence, one presence erased, a minor miracle, as if he had never ever existed.

...

Above the caption, The Opening of the Sutro Tunnel, dignitaries pose stiffly, clasping lanterns, while the only man of color, S. Yanada, crouches at their feet. Who was he?






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