Anachronisms are handed out. Tossed around. Traded. Someone had their way with another person’s card collection. Or—by way of poker parlance—we could be dealing with an exposed four flusher.
Decoction, served cold. It seems as if melancholic food pairing is carrying an odour of etching ink.
We are the haunting spook, searching for flaws. Tiles switch places; subtly changing the character of conversations.
*Manipulation is a sport for liquid souls.
Knut Ivar Aaser (*1986 in Oslo, Norway) lives and works in Oslo, Norway