TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Morning, dockside: all things small and vast are vigorous in activity. Tiny tits pursue a crow, heckling and pecking its wing-tips. Dutch tanker roars, like a massive buck in heat, before retreating from the marina. As the clouds shift, the bay mutates, from wet diamond to scaly skin. I marvel at the sight, at water so familiar yet never the same, protean yet stubbornly itself, deep and transparent at once.