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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile


10.07.20

Today I did some yoga, smoked fewer cigarettes, and filled out my ballot, which I will post tomorrow. When Trump was elected, this dude in my small Irish town told me, smiling, so smug, that he was delighted because Trump would make things interesting. 4 years later, I'm so exhausted of "interesting".

Time passes so quickly now. I drag myself out of bed, and I’m walking the dog. I open my planner, and it’s already lunchtime. I blink, and we’ve had dinner. I stumble, and I’m in bed, and I can’t wait to close my eyes. The next day sings like a guillotine blade.

A moment of relief: glancing up and noticing copper and scarlet leaves on a tree I’m passing. Petrichor perfumes the air, an earthy cocktail of ozone, geosmin, and volatile plant oils. Petrichor: from the Greek petra “rock”, or petros “stone”, and ichor, the fluid that flows in the veins of gods.






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