Jayme Russell: a holding on
a stitch holding
situated in
interstitial tears
Jayme Russell: a holding on
a stitch holding
situated in
interstitial tears
Jace Brittain: The pattern of obfuscation and analogous webs extends to an endlessly astounding figurative compulsion in The Book of the Dead, a compulsion toward sensory bleeding and complex synesthesias. Just as the lips of a dead lover might smell like a hue, one might “hear the moon sliding across the sky” at the same moment that a mountain’s trees “stir noiselessly.”
Jayme Russell: Fallen decadence, smearing of gold to tarnished black. The ruined book is curled beside me in bed. It’s pages stiff waves petrified, moving toward an inky putrescent Venice. The book is the physical manifestation of the dark decay within. “There is always something afoot in the city, whose mirrors drink the dark.”