I like the shapes that you can get sometimes working with the angles of various buildings. There are three separate buildings here, but one day I'd love to get six in one shot. Last week I posted a little bit of prose that I constructed in a reasonably straightforward manner. As is my wont however, I applied my own theory of surrealistic realism to the piece and rewrote the bugger with that in mind: Leaning back he transforms himself into a chair of dirty orange plastic that smells of neglect. Shattering his hands, the room waits. The light-tube mourning as his face develops for all to see. And expedition of eighty-seven is sent to investigate the mystery of his countenance. They map from east to west, recording all they see: eyeballs dripping sadness, nose launching itself from the landscape for easier access, cavernous mouth overflowing with small, white children standing out of line. This was the last we heard of them as he inhales the room, extracting his head and placing it ...