Back before we were all bathed in glowy, glow of 0110111101101110011001010111001100100000011000010110111001100100001000000111101001100101011100100110111101110011 we were bathed in mangled trees; lignocellulosic fibrous material; paper. Hard copy. My parents sent me a box of personal history in the mail awhile back and I have been looking through it a little bit here and there. Scraps of stories, dream diaries, poem fragments: the work …
Category Archives: writing
Nothing else for it.
{ Familial feet } Blog’s been quiet for a while now. I’m sure by now all six seven of you subscribed readers are desperate and foaming at the mouth to have another precious gem of a ‘me’ filtered blog entry.(Can you even imagine the layers of embittered sarcasm in the tones of that sentence? Probably not. But …
El Matadero, Madrid
In the Slaughter House Lovis Corinth 1893 So if you go outside of Madrid proper, down some fancy named calles (streets), you will end up at the river. And at the place of slaughter and selling of flesh. El matadero.It isn’t a very old place, by European standards, but it really resonated in a familiar way with me. …