lady day...

Market...
...the funk of being someone else, with the
onus on the thought that who is anyone, who is we?
...the taste of everything doused in the fabric
of language...
...Ludwig heard the last sentence and started
to think, I could tell, his eyes went big and then
narrow, cloistered into the centre of his face with
his soft hands touching the right side of his head...
...Claudia had then rented a flat in Dalston,
though explained that she had problems finding a
studio, she said to us in the living room holding a
sculpture she mentioned was for us... it's a bit
Giacometti-esque, isn't it? she said, rhetorically
whilst i stared at it... the indentations of the
spherical part of it, which was made of bronze, and
then the folds upwards suggested a feminine
beauty more so, in comparison to the spherical
part... she called it La Femme before placing it next
to the bookshelf near the balcony door...
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