The flip of a coin_WHERE IS IT HIDDEN?_THE ANGEL WITH FLOWERY WINGS_Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison
Catalog Guide:
The flip of a coin
Everybody knows that it’s not supposed to snow in fucking Texas. Every year the weatherman forecasts snowy weather…… and every year there’s not a speck of snow on the gotdamn grown Those were the rules. Snowy weather was just an excuse to have snow days to call off from work and school. They were supposed to be relaxing. However, that meant that Slushy Jackson was not supposed to trudging through four foot deep snow, in the middle of gotdamn nowhere, and searching for a winter spirit. Okay, to be fair– Everything started a couple of weeks ago when she was working her shitty job at the local gr...
WHERE IS IT HIDDEN?
WHERE IS IT HIDDEN? The first thing she remembered was a long corridor, which seemed to have not end, that she found herself in front of. But she didn’t know how she got there , whether through a door, going down or up the stairs. Or whether she had been dropped into it. As time went by____and it had to have passed a long time since she was in there, even though she couldn’t say how much time had passed_____as she kept wandering through passages and underpasses, through tunnels and very strange looking doors, through rooms whose walls opened like doors, the conviction grew in her that she ha...
THE ANGEL WITH FLOWERY WINGS
THE ANGEL WITH FLOWERY WINGSRichard, who had always been a framer, had begun to collect every work of painting that he happened to find or that he could afford to buy since, for almost a long time now, with thwww.onedoor.cce advent of contemporary art, painting seemed a forgotten practice, certainly no longer considered an art. If you continued to paint in the era of installations and video art you were at best a craftsman, certainly not an artist. But you could also be considered a troglodyte or a poor fool. Richard had always been passionate about painting, any kind of painting, even if he preferred the ...
Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison
"Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison".The euphonious petitions of the choir ring through the high walls of the church. Our priest swings a luxurious golden globe of myrrh incense, while one of the clergy boys sprays holy water at the congregation. The droplets land at my feet and I run the soles of my Converse over them; for these thoughts that inhabit my mind, I will need all the purifying I can get. Behind the alter there's a cathedral glass portrait of Mary mother of Jesus. My eyes stay glued to it and all I feel is a borrowing pit in my stomach. The more my mind works, the faster my heart beats...