reminds me of a two star hotel
Now, reconfigure the story like this: Lambert Strether strangles Mary Dalton. He stuffs her-- rolls her, into a carpet. That same carpet that hunchbacked, reverse stylite Oskar tried humping her through in the Marabar Caves. The little devil, the tiny satan drumming away all day at the post office. Little Birahima walking into Philadelphia with nothing but a loaf of bread under his arm, while, somewhere close-- relatively speaking-- little Chandler turns men into pigs. Meanwhile, someone is retrographing Atget while a friend decides to sculpt the Comte du Lorraine in a mustache and high heels.
sometimes I open livejournal to find I had written something very strange at 2 am and abandoned it to draft-world. so it goes.
I've been putting pictures up, here: www.ghostandflea.blogspot.com