Rollers/Sparkers
New Member
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The museum is closed. Still, a grey cloud has appeared overhead. A porter keeps an eye on its movements just in case. Though a quiet believer in the moderation of doubt, he finds it hard not to suspect, after a time, that the cloud is up to something. Continued observation reveals that a pattern is, indeed, emerging. Bit like a motor-racing circuit.
Inside the museum are wax models of anatomical parts - finely detailed, stringy, sinewy, shiny. These are laid out in glass cases for optimal visibility and maximum longevity. There are not many visitors to this museum. Nevertheless, the porter is proud of these models, as if they somehow reflected well on his own internal organs, on those of his family, on those of his family's families, and so on. Now it's a figure of 8.
He is not far from retirement, not far. He has a son in Boston, another on the West Coast in a town that sounds like the streets might be covered in fine sand. His skull feels a little heavy. Perhaps some day it will fill with fine sand. Perhaps the sand will fall through the sockets where his eyes once were, onto the floor of his coffin, leaving two sandy circles joined at the edges, a bit like an hourglass. More like a contact lens case.
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L A S P E C O L A
respect for the spectral
feat. Black Egg and White John
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Lazybird,
Upstairs at The International Bar,
Wicklow St.
Sunday 10 February 2002.
Admission: 5 Euro.
Doors: 8pm.
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The museum is closed. Still, a grey cloud has appeared overhead. A porter keeps an eye on its movements just in case. Though a quiet believer in the moderation of doubt, he finds it hard not to suspect, after a time, that the cloud is up to something. Continued observation reveals that a pattern is, indeed, emerging. Bit like a motor-racing circuit.
Inside the museum are wax models of anatomical parts - finely detailed, stringy, sinewy, shiny. These are laid out in glass cases for optimal visibility and maximum longevity. There are not many visitors to this museum. Nevertheless, the porter is proud of these models, as if they somehow reflected well on his own internal organs, on those of his family, on those of his family's families, and so on. Now it's a figure of 8.
He is not far from retirement, not far. He has a son in Boston, another on the West Coast in a town that sounds like the streets might be covered in fine sand. His skull feels a little heavy. Perhaps some day it will fill with fine sand. Perhaps the sand will fall through the sockets where his eyes once were, onto the floor of his coffin, leaving two sandy circles joined at the edges, a bit like an hourglass. More like a contact lens case.
----------------------------------
L A S P E C O L A
respect for the spectral
feat. Black Egg and White John
----------------------------------
Lazybird,
Upstairs at The International Bar,
Wicklow St.
Sunday 10 February 2002.
Admission: 5 Euro.
Doors: 8pm.
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