Spider

Skogsrå

I slept on a park bench, near the house in Örebro, and I woke to a feeling of being very cold, an ache phasing into my back, touching the specific set of organs and nerves that felt like the border of my soul. I tried to open my eyes, or, specifically, my eyelids moved like every time I had blinked …

Occult

Tongue

“I write to prisoners” she says, trying to shock or intrigue me. She nods towards the letters, open and pinned, boring like butterflies, to a cork board near her odd little writing desk. I could have guessed this kind of self-made nuance about her, had I spent the time to think of her more than somewhere to sleep that wasn’t …