The Rhythm Of A Number

Memories hurt more in the summeror mine do, at least;I can only speak for myself,myself being all that I know-human feeling has long beenother to me, each mood and whim returning as unfamiliaras the scent of outerspace;they say that it smells like char,and somehow that speaks to memore than people ever didbecause I knowhow itContinue reading “The Rhythm Of A Number”

The Last Exhibition Of Erzebet Almo

I photographed Erzebet Almo’s last exhibition, but I didn’t keep any of the pictures for myself, not so much as a thumbnail. Even if they hadn’t been highly censored as one of the most controversial moments in modern art history I wouldn’t have wanted too seek them out; it made me sick to look atContinue reading “The Last Exhibition Of Erzebet Almo”

The Bad And The Beautiful

“It’s rejecting again, isn’t it.” It was a statement, not a question, flat and almost casual in delivery. The woman who said it lay sprawled on her back on a rumpled bed, rubbing the raised scar at her hairline with one hand, flicking ash off the end of a cigarette with the other. Both wereContinue reading “The Bad And The Beautiful”