TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations & other curiosities :: profile
10.10.07, wednesday evening
PINWHEELThe wind dives into you, as if you are a pinwheel. (See Magritte, The Human Condition.) A man's soft eyes shine just as you duck around the corner; take the cuts, side streets, and narrow corridors, the hallway of sighs and long melancholic laughter. The broad streets are planned for parades, marches, commerce; history's sunny bombast, the long whine
against decline. Walk past the bar, the realtor, the florist, the biker's hangout, the body specialist, the pre-school. Landscapes of leaves and glittery handprints press against the glass. This road denoues at the cemetery.
Hurry on, the gates will shut at sunset. You choose left where the arrow suggests Home of Eternity.
Leopold Lion has three epitaphs: white quartz, opaque and solid like spirits caught in glass, 1900 - 1987. Each date is a deep incision. For Annie Levine, twenty-eight last September, these talismans
against the giver's heartbreak: XOXO. Unicorns, crystals, lipgloss, a sighing blue tit of a firework. The scintillant pinwheel spins its arms, graceful and automatic, a rotary dial wheeling to eternity.
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