TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
12.06.03, saturday morning
Today I'm a locked box, small and steel and as gray as the Oakland sky. But don't look for a skeleton key; inside lie ugly things, barbed things that aren't necessarily weapons but hurt when touched, a meanness cultivated by these (friend-, money-, patience-) lean times.