Lee Ka-sing

Yesterday romantic mania (with floral photograph by Patrick Lee, object by Zunzi)

The (not so) tiger. Vocal warm-up exercise at side of plum blossoms

Cat rested on the bookcase chatting with the little cow inside Andrew’s sketch-book

Rounding the corner and about to depart

The book consists of a pair of novellas that best to be read in two different room-temperatures
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Fiona Smyth

CHEEZ
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Bob Black

Bagatelle and Babble
True Grit and the Ghost Drover
Daddy's body bled dust and scattered it everywhere like red clay,
marked up our lives like black-spit shine and saddle soap staining,
all he touched and spoke of: the rambling before the gate, the whiskey needed like a prayer before the falling into the shoot and the madness of his stories:
the bull and the rose and the anguish in his limbs for his family far from the rodeo.
When he returned at night, dark scampering over our beds and crippled,
he would hold my pillow as if it were a 1700 lb. bull in a bucking hysteria
and he would not relent, for love understands neither strain nor burden,
for I could see through the burnished blur of sleep what that holding-onto meant.
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