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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


08.20.01

Unwinding myself, finally, after 3 weeks on the road. Behind me, a trail of gleaming thread:

graffiti blazing black under shuttered windows; sound traveling in the Metro, reverberations of a city in transit; photographs taken behind the back, under the table, or over the shoulder; a dandelion blown quivering bald atop a castle overlooking the Atlantic Ocean; the Empty Library mute and glowing beneath my feet; prostitutes stolling past the Neue Synogogue, guarded by a massive green tank; once-voluptuous love, carved down to bone, the curve of a spine jutting sharp under palm; and just outside of Berlin, the stillness of lives interrupted.

...

"... and the room comes to life only when it is entered."--Robert Filliou, "Seven Childlike Uses of Warlike Materials"






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