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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


11.02.01

Trying to concentrate on writing new short story, but Im surrounded by cuties in striped scarfs and tiny heels. Oh my. Who wants to think about dead skin and state terror when a heart-shaped face looks over your shoulder, her cheeks cold-flushed?

November is about one thesis on notions of national identity in black Caribbean literature, a portfolio of short stories, and a film about Berkeley: in transit(ion) with the brilliant Joe. Many lunches-for-two-or-three and nights of dancing feet, too, so that I stay sane under a growing mountain of papers and books.

Me, I dont mind the chaos. I think better when Im messy or at the mercy of language. Precision is neat-o too, but blurry photos and scarlet spray paint before rulers and calculators and state-of-the-art cameras any day.






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