Her eyes were cold and stony; the Manhattans brought that out in her, he knew that. But so did she. Why did she have to be like this tonight of all nights? He returned the look and ordered two coffees.
John Stezaker has a show at the Whitechapel Gallery until the 18th of March - I look forward to making it along next month when I’m in town, as well as the Isotype exhibition at the V&A which closes on the 13th.
London people: I’m about from the 10th to 27th of March (roughly) - is there anything else I should see?
And suddenly, he had a sinking feeling. He was up to his knees in it. Then up to his neck. He was drowning in a sea of dread. Before it could rise above his nostrils, he took a long deep breath into his belly, and discovered that he could float.
Fashioned form an old rug and a prosthesis, she wore her humpback jacket proudly. Humped fashion caught on. It framed the wearer’s face in a great woolly glow and was a great place to keep snacks and laptops and kittens. They were the octogeneration.
The Land Shark: the most deadly and dainty of the land predators. It is mainly found creeping around urban centers, especially those with a high concentration of cement and dark alleys. No one knows how they keep their sheen; anyone who’s turned a corner to be met with so many teeth has never lived to tell the tale. Researchers believe the sheen is leftover moisture from the fog the land shark is said to conjure when it is preparing to sneak up on prey. Others believe the sheen is due to the tears of regret shed by the land shark every night over a bourbon. He misses his watery home, but when he said he would make it on his own, he meant it.
she sat to cool her molten legs in the lake.
Kathryn worked the night shift at the Nature Museum. She didn’t do it because she liked cleaning. And she wasn’t desperate for a job. She did it for the animals; those rigid forms arranged behind glass. Someone had to care for them. Someone had to care. She always worked efficiently so that all the work was done in less than the allotted time. Her remaining minutes or hours were spent hugging one animal a night until she had to go. Son there was one animal in particular, a bear. A bear she could empathize with. Even when it wasn’t its turn, she stood with it on its rock and buried her head into its hulking, dusty chest. She breathed in its fur and breathed out their worries.
“See, these hands on the wall are just like you two: they come together to create something special and unique. Together they’re more than they could be alone.”
Ronald and Reggie looked at the wall and then down at the femur that connected them. Even at age 6 knew the difference: the difference was that once the hands were done making magic, they could go their separate ways.
Her hair was her Achilles Heel; one pull and her body went limp like a doll held upright by string. She had to sit at the back of a room, back of a bus, back of a line to keep others from discovering her weakness. When her boyfriend pulled his fingers through her locks, he took her sudden slack state to be a sign of serenity. Hairdressers wouldn’t see her because every time they hit a tangle she wasn’t safe amongst the flying scissors.
And so she took to wearing a handkerchief on her head, tied like a headband with the knot in the front (lest the her hair get caught up in the tying, sending her to the floor). This worked for some time, but she was having trouble matching the headbands to her pantsuits, plus the families selling the homes she was showing started locking the door and closing the blinds every time she knocked.
Henrietta’s costume was the cat’s pajamas. She stood with her head in that dark, feathery bucket waiting for someone to pull the cord on the back. The cord would open the mouth, letting out a sweet chirp, and an even sweeter glimpse of the party outside - and, she assumed, her darling admirers.
It would be difficult but her decision was final, her conviction unwavering: the bed had to be put down. It had seen too much. She knew it would talk - and oh how it could talk; that’s how she’d gotten into this situation. Silencing it then finding her underwear was her only way out.
she knew that any good piece of furniture could be measure by its distance from the floor. That is, if it was approximately the same distance from the floor as the distance from the top of her head to her tailbone, then it was good to keep. For this reason, her house remained mostly bare for many years, and cooking on the stop top and climbing into bed was an adventure. Just the way she liked it.
Every year they closed in, inch by inch. The plan was to smash through the windows, which would take roughly 25 years, or 25 inches. Until then, they just stared at the family, arranging their leaves in a frightening manner and scratching their tiny branches against the window pane.