TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
We moved a dozen boxes of books, nine pots of cacti and a few kitchen things on an icy Tuesday in December. It is quiet here at night, after the boozy torrential hormones of city centre. Persephone's shadowy palace, after the long year in arcades haunted by the children of Pan and Bacchus.