Wrapped in Dust MitesJames Grinwis
Scene of grey and green: fuses, toys and such as gets spread across a half desert/ half forest kind of place, when with the flick of a switch the scene changes (the wood too), to a cluster of naked people dipping themselves in clogged pools. Numbed beyond what is attributable to scenes and stuff: someone is depressed north of here, a man in a Toyota is punching the horn, another man has taken a pole and thrust it through the windows of a small establishment, like some swim-bladderless fish pushing its gills from the soffocating silt, bits and pieces of crap floating around, things it should try harder to elude. Its myth is a mighty bugbear who never moves, never changes place. Like a restaurant where the service is horrible but the meals tend toward the divine.
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