So, say you're standing in the middle of the kitchen. Look away from the velvet lined gloves cascading from the sink, away from the ironing board/autopsy propped against the wall, away from the odd amalgomy of vegetation, muppets and furniture...Look through the door, past the embroidery of teeth and jaws, past the mangled doily of hair mounted on a springform pan, past the disjointed prosthetic leg made of upholstery fabric and lace...into:
The Bedroom.
The ceiling fan turns slowly. Padded, bandaged bone-like forms (like those hanging above the window in the living room, or on the frieze of
Novel and Compulsive) , plucked feathers and brown paper towel spanish moss/tendons quiver with each click of the fan blade against them.
On the floor are two pillowcases knotted together. Each spilling its pathetic guts. Extreme pillow fight.
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| Pillowcase:lungs being overtaken by giant ants. Guts: worms, synthetic fluffy stuff |
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Pillowcase: swan on heart. Guts:red felt corpuscles.
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