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August 08, 2004

The unfortunate geometry of the parsonage.

So I wander into the gents bog and since it's not a nasty metal 'nite' there's not an ankle deep piss-lake (Which I'm sure comes from the same catalogue as the CS tablets that go in the smoke machines and the pre-slashed seats) and Schroedinger's cider-puking crusty is happily absent. Instead there's something wrong about the room. Not in the 'far too tidy to be a pissoir' manner, but in some deeper way.

[ Hey, there was this one time I encountered the bog in Camden Sainsbury's. Fresh junky-blood everywhere. It was like someone has lobbed in a Burroughs-Bug and the thing had gone off like a grenade. ]

The perspectives were wrong. As if the room were hiding something and holding its breath as it waited for you to sense (or not) that something was up. I walked to the end where it looked like two walls should meet, and... They didn't. Instead they branched backwards on themselves as the room revealed an entire extra level.

Posted by Hirez at August 8, 2004 10:59 PM

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