A view from the Quarantine
Magnolia by four, two doors, a blue square, smack of bare heels on linoleum, cigarette flare, and a small child laughing. Tick. green fronds unfurling, growth in the corner by the mirror as unbelievable as anything else, though I’m believing the anything else now. Pink on white enamel, like teeth showing through raw gums. The soft shhh of pages turning, the sweep of reflected light as a window opens, our breathing dimmed in the hush, the kettle boiling. Tick.
One cloud, seven, a hand across the eyes, a passing bird; the sun scarfed as if for an instant. Tick. Looking downstairs the downstairs neighbour gazes similarly into the void eyes rolling backwards in her head I think they might fall out but the retinal tether retains them; retinal retention, retinal restraint.
Smell of toast and coffee, a small sandwich, and fresh basil. Tick. The air chilled, sun slipped behind a chimney. Feel the taste of mustard in my nose. The golden square of the opposite wall shifts a little to the left. Tick.
Night draws, licked shut like an envelope. Tick. Eyes closed, trying to nail them down. Tired of being bored. Tick. Bored of being tired. Tick.
Sudden awareness that this is shite anyway. Light off click. Tick.
I don’t really feel like writing anything today. I’ve got a couple of big projects that I’m working on, some of which are more narrative long form things and one of them is my personal magnum opus about Mary Kate and Ashley and I just feel a bit whacked if I’m honest. Writing a post every day is harder than I thought it would be. Instead here’s a list of titles that I’m working on:
Olsen Mythos: time rips, reality and doppelgangers in Mary Kate and Ashley
A Marxist reading of The Devil Wears Prada
Why Mona Lisa Smile is a masterpiece and Julia Roberts is queen
A book about stone circles
A rejection letter for a zine that is rejecting the new Dior Homme advert.
A short story about lighthouses
That’s about it. Take care of urselves, restez chez vous. Vive LA RÉPUBLIQUE, et vive MarioKart