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In Search of Sweetness (2000)
john luke chapman

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The circling air turns the sweat on the back of his bowed head into tiny cold droplets that he follows, in his mind, as they intimately trace down the braille of his spine.

From above the spinning blades slice up the seated figure, like a film reel running frantically too slow, as a darkening line of sweat soaks through his cotton shirt. Frame by frame: the Rorschach geometry of the growing stain cuts through the kiss-cross of his braces and blooms like a butterfly-bruise across his back.

[~fragment]

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“The story of my life doesn’t exist. Does not exist. There’s never any centre to it. No path, no line. There are great spaces where you pretend there used to be someone, but it’s not true, there was no one.”

Marguerite Duras The Lover (1984)

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Pont de Bir-Hakeim (2004)
john luke chapman

pour F.

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“And then he told her. Told her that it was as before, that he still loved her, he could never stop loving her, that he’d love her until death.”

Duras (1984)