Lights shine upstage from the front of the stage, illuminating a door in the back wall. These women spend their days waiting for a man, and they know that one day he will come. Its inhabitants are not interested in us, perhaps because their problems do not concern us. We do not see the hut when the lights first come up, and then we see it. Eric works for the Post Office in Dayton – which his old college friends consider a piss-poor place for a guy with a theology degree to wind up – and spends most of his nights reading eschatology or philosophy or wasting time online as a low-risk day trader.Ībdel-Hadi El-Gazzar, The Lady Rider, early 1950s. Vaughan’s an IT guy based in Memphis who travels 220 miles there and back each weekend to attend his hometown high school’s football games. Marsha’s an art historian and single mother from Tulsa who now lives in Southern California. We can also stipulate (and I’m sure they would all agree on this) that aside from being involved in this matter in different ways, there’s pretty much nothing they have in common. We can agree that Vaughan does not know Marsha and Marsha does not know Vaughan and that neither of them knows Eric, who does not know them either.Īnd we can agree that, though Vaughan would probably recognize Marsha, particularly if she were wearing the fuzzy sweater and knit cap she had on in the video, Marsha would not recognize Vaughan, though she has probably heard of him, and neither of them would recognize Eric (who would not recognize Vaughan, but like Vaughan and for the same reasons, would probably recognize Marsha), though, if Vaughan checked his website’s logs, he would find Eric’s metadata and could follow Eric’s digital fingerprints around online, but it would be a one-sided relationship because Eric doesn’t have access to any of Vaughan’s info. Let’s start with a few things we can all agree on. In the beginning, a mother let go of a young girl’s hand. These are the times that sell men’s souls. Yüksel Arslan, Arture 401, Men XLII, 1989. Zodiac partied hard with long and bloody fireflies.
In their left lung Zodiac howled and Time, whom one never meant to interrupt, plummeted incontinent and sat on their sentences, chewing them like birdshit. At that very moment a tom-tom unleashed a drumbeat inside their stomachs and inexhaustible molecules. At a neighboring table the devil applied his makeup. They broke their ribs several times in the middle of the terrace. They were anxious to go home however their legs had become the sole emblem of a museum of the nearby desert. In their navel rooted the reign of a sphecoid wasp-star which itched throughout the discussion. They weren’t listening or pretended not to hear. One spoke adroitly about these rhymes bees of inconsistent blondeness.
Ancestral huts and migraines crucified the gossiping sun of a late autumn in which convalescents were stretching out electrified limbs. The machine guns launched black and yellow texts onto the café terraces. They got to know each other in Paris between two smoking faces which it was said were fired blanks. Mars, Aries and Scorpio from the Wellcome Collection’s Persian Manuscript 373. I’d start walking everything would go blank from then on. Every time, my brother would be waiting for me next to the front door, holding it open, and closing it behind me. I’d feel myself being pushed out of my bed and out the door. Having been in bed for a couple of days, I’d get up after midnight with an urge to escape. What followed this inexplicable numbness was always the same repetitive scenario.
A crippling numbness took over my body from time to time, and this was one of those times. I’ve been lying in bed for three days straight, only leaving my room when absolutely necessary. But, egotistical or not, the feeling never left me. It’s a bit of an egotistical belief, to think that someone or something would leave everything behind to watch your every move. I could never shake off the feeling of being watched.
#Cairo translates to face of mars windows
Windows made me uncomfortable I was barely okay with one. He wanted me to move into the room with better lighting, but it had two big windows. Perhaps my brother was right he said it looked like a prison cell. It only had one tiny, too high to reach, which made it look like it was there just to freak you out. It may have had something to do with how tall the walls were. The shadows in that room always looked a bit hysterical. Tereza Zelenkova, from ” Snake That Disappeared Through a Hole in the Wall”, 2018.
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