"Dolls That Pull the Stuffing Out of Each Other"


My mind is basically a horror movie attic filled with addicts and filing cabinets, where a ragdoll sits rocking in a rocking chair with crazy orange eyes that look in looping directions—never stopping talking, crazy thinking, tongue twirling, papers flying.  Not completely orderless or ordorless.  And the filing cabinets open and shut rapidly.  Noisy, but a weird music about the place—the combination of the doll talking, rustling papers, records cracking on a victrola, law-office filing cabinets slamming, the addicts scratching leftover bug bites, and the creaking rocking chair.  In the sweet smells of dustiness, the walls breathe a gray and pink organic. 






Destroyed/Deranged Dolls














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