TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
09.03.04, friday afternoon
Everytime I hear Elka's voice on the phone, I am amazed. Seriously. It is kin to rainbows and brooks and tiny forests shivering with friendly ghosts. It is light laughing off glass surfaces in a sleepy-eyed snow-cloaked town set deep in a mountain I have not climbed yet.