He looks stern in that photograph, but I remember him as cheeky. You can just make out initials embroidered on his butter cream shirt. When we walked, he would lift me up to peer over the tall fences. Swimming pools and manicured grass. Made-up stories of lives we’d never know. Later in life he got stuck in front of the television. It’s him that I make up stories about now. Though I didn’t think he was ever really looking, I wonder what these streets felt like for him in PARIS 1958?
He looks stern in that photograph, but I remember him as cheeky. You can just make out initials embroidered on his butter cream shirt. When we walked, he would lift me up to peer over the tall fences. Swimming pools and manicured grass. Made-up stories of lives we’d never know. Later in life he got stuck in front of the television. It’s him that I make up stories about now. Though I didn’t think he was ever really looking, I wonder what these streets felt like for him in PARIS 1958?
paris 58
20.1
spire of the sub rosa
sunken theatre
ministry of thrill
recovering lost steps
oasis of re-incline
embedded chamber of consumption
activism assembly
hovering archive
sensorium emporium
achromatic walls + chromatic pillar of odour
vessel of revival
nest of decency
plastic (toy) depository
emotional halls
