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    • Almost a True Story
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  • home
  • Work
    • The Wandering Womb (Uterine Specimens), 2016/17
    • Being is Distributed into Myriad Objects (Shark Eggs), Peckham. January 2016.
    • Orgasm Drawings, 2013/16
    • Untitled (After Luke), 2012
  • Written word
    • Almost a True Story
    • By the Grace of a Static Attraction with a Sleeve
    • It Will End Up in the Sea
  • CV/ contact
   

Almost a True Story 
​June, 2016

Some time afterwards he said that he might rather spend his time stumbling around in the night time and bringing home intelligent girls with varying interests such as, for example, video art and Marxist feminism and engaging in genital intimacy with them by the glow of the blue string lights at the head of his bed.

​He had said I looked good in that blue light. It negates most pink tones and evens the complexion. Any remaining warm tones are, in fact, exaggerated. Flushed cheeks burn like two cigarette ends. One evening he casually mentioned that I should stay there, naked, just like that all the time and it occurred to me to take root right then and there. 


He’d have had to sleep curled around my upright, impassive, body while I watched him sleep like a monument to love itself. Like those statues of liberty or justice or peace that look over great bays or streets and cities. Or perhaps a nativity scene, my mouth gently pulled out into a beatific half smile. Bathed in virgin blue. Smothered in international Klein blue. Jarman's Blue. Phthalocyanine. In the morning he would tip up my thighs in search of lost socks.
​This isn’t quite what I was expecting, he would say.
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