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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


05.16.09

Post-term, after the mad flurry of deadlines, applications, and requests for this or that, I am now aimless. Outside of an institution, I am bereft of the skin that would otherwise contain all this flesh and blood congealed in the shape of a girl.

Wandering, I can feel myself leaking. The perpetually inclement weather pierces my skin, dissolving the softest bits first. Porous, I absorb the color of the sky, that sticky grey, it gets into everything, rubs off on my clothes.

Oh, lady, what to do with yourself? Commit to a structured week: research in the mornings, writing in the afternoons, evening walks along the canals and byways of Galway.




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