undead undead undead

On Hampstead Heath last night, like revenant Lucy. I thought I heard children in the trees near a pond, then something vulpine, then wondered momentarily if they might not be both. In such environs, there is a plastic theriomorphology at play. In general, it isn’t so much that things aren’t what they seem as seeming isn’t what things are.

I texted my friends Geoff Manaugh and Nicky Twilley that a fox and I had crossed paths as I hoofed to the heath; the only two creatures afoot on that dark stretch. “Let it capture you and wear your flesh like a clown suit,” Geoff suggested. I demurred, but it’s early days in London yet.

The alcove of a Brutalist uzumaki in Kiev. Original photograph by Bradley Garrett.

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