TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
I no longer dream at night. I sweat profusely, and wake up intermittently, touching my damp forehead and wondering if I have covid-19. It's weird, this time of transition, as the country slowly wakes up from its long fever dream, queuing in the hundreds for cheap clothing, indulging in house parties and fatal midnight joyrides, gathering in town squares to protest direct provision. After lockdown's highly defined boundaries, there's uncertainty in this moment posing as a post-pandemic reality. How should we greet each other? Should we attend this bbq? Will we return to normality? Is that normality desirable anymore?