CORPSE ON PUMPKIN PHOTOGRAPHY will be traveling on tour with UNWED SAILOR from mid-August to mid-September, following paths along the East Coast of the United States, far from Mitre Square.
TO THE OFFICES OF NEIL GARRISCOND:
The trial was a nightmare.
All around, the dust in the courtroom was coming for me, and I swear I could feel it all like a vacuum behind my head, making the dust come straight for me; the sound of the air conditioners urging the motion. But everyone was watching the Judge, whod braided her hair for the closing of the trial and wore new wire-rimmed glasses Im quite sure shes never worn before; that they were new, and slightly uncomfortable, but because they looked so good, she let them sit, playing the perfect part of patience. She just had this amazing look in her eyes, and as the gavel fell I saw in my head: Butterflies pricking the hot haze of the sun in a field of yellowflowers, tiny wet bullfrogs battling for control of heavy green lily pads, grasshoppers up in the air as high as the birds can fly.
And then she said, How do you feel about this, sir?
Like those before me, wincing with soft shoulders bunched up, when what the newspapers would surely like to hear is something as tearful as it is benignly malevolent, I sighed. Butterflies, I whispered.
The news cameras zoomed in and all of a sudden I was conscious of their red lights in a way that made me shiver.
Yours,
Please come get me.
TO THE OFFICES OF NEIL GARRISCOND:
The trial was a nightmare.
All around, the dust in the courtroom was coming for me, and I swear I could feel it all like a vacuum behind my head, making the dust come straight for me; the sound of the air conditioners urging the motion. But everyone was watching the Judge, whod braided her hair for the closing of the trial and wore new wire-rimmed glasses Im quite sure shes never worn before; that they were new, and slightly uncomfortable, but because they looked so good, she let them sit, playing the perfect part of patience. She just had this amazing look in her eyes, and as the gavel fell I saw in my head: Butterflies pricking the hot haze of the sun in a field of yellowflowers, tiny wet bullfrogs battling for control of heavy green lily pads, grasshoppers up in the air as high as the birds can fly.
And then she said, How do you feel about this, sir?
Like those before me, wincing with soft shoulders bunched up, when what the newspapers would surely like to hear is something as tearful as it is benignly malevolent, I sighed. Butterflies, I whispered.
The news cameras zoomed in and all of a sudden I was conscious of their red lights in a way that made me shiver.
Yours,
Please come get me.
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~beauty