by Johannes Goransson on Apr.24, 2012
here’s an excerpt of the excerpt:
I am supposed to find a killer but I am feverish in Los Angeles.
Los Angeles tastes like iron in my mouth.
Maybe I’m dying of a disease brought home to me from my daughters. They are conduits of contagion. They bring the outside into the inside and the inside into the outside. They stand by the stairs and stare at me. They have dark dark hair and blue eyes. Their dresses look clean but their mouths are soiled.
We live inside The Meadow. That’s not its true name of the hotel but that’s what I call it because of the lamb masks.
And because of the sweet-smelling girl bodies on the sidewalk. And because of my own tendency to affect the air of a shepherd.
Here’s a picture I like by Emeli Theander: