The Foriegner [sic]
It started at the end, on top of Mount Zalagh. In the medina’s labyrinth the pungent odour of stale death, rapidly superseded by the waft of spices and then perfume; the rich and complex array of aromas, superficial and yet profound. Morocco, 2010
‘…a party night
stars falling from the sky
I lapped up the lightning
burst into laughter
lightning in the heart . . .’
Georges Bataille, Guilty 1944
‘…a party night
stars falling from the sky
I lapped up the lightning
burst into laughter
lightning in the heart . . .’
Georges Bataille, Guilty 1944
