Lawrence
Upton
| Portrait
She’ll make you rattle. She’ll take your knowledge down to a source of realisation and cut it; leaving each client slowing; quivering behind it, words. She loves the dead, talking with shadowy eyes in anger for the living, a flexible slaughter system for undesirable tendentiousness. She takes a witness and each ends the memory, hollows in wounds infilled by splintery ashes from collegiate opinion. She fakes change to everything. She breaks open each corpus till even thought is spare, smoothing the surface of each outlook and making concrete with precision to build within each one a madhouse. >>>Heather Taylor
Back to Contents |
|||
| |
|