TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
In my beloved's underworld, no one stirs before afternoon and the deepest level roars with the mercies of revellers from evening to early morning. Twilight comes all too soon, at a quarter to four, in a blue-grey coat, stained where the rain falls. Everything acquires a deep ambiguity in its shadow; objects and people are not what they seem. Tomorrow is the solstice, and with it, the salvation of longer days.