TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
The earliest morning before my noon flight, I dream that I am in a small town under attack during deep winter. While the earth sleeps hard and cold under snow, Kalashnikovs cackles. Into the forest dark the adults flee, frantic bodies dark against the twilight-lit snow. I wonder, Where will the children go?