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a room of one's own

last time I was in Katowice it was Christmas. I sat in a little room with a giant snowman and lots of Russian dolls and wrote a flash fiction about Polish beavers. It was a story about my impressions of Poland and globalization. The Poles can do Gangnam style like no other. The story is in the mag Sprung Formal. It's called I love Beaver:

The little room has been renovated. It has merged with the front room. The giant snowman is hibernating in a box somewhere. There are still lots of Russian dolls. I am looking at hundreds of Russian dolls as I am typing this and sipping Turkish coffee.

This morning I finished American Gods by Neil Gaiman. It was an OK book. Somewhat entertaining. Not fully satisying. I had to finish it to get to the good stuff. The good stuff is Sam Pink. I am ready to read Sam Pink in this room full of Russian dolls in Katowice, Poland. It is a good place to read Sam Pink.

The room is part of flat which is part of a block of flats in many blocks of flats in an estate called Manhatten. It is not Manhatten. It is nothing like Manhatten. It is the Queens of Poland.

It's time to finally wash my hair in Poland. The last time I really washed my hair was in Alicante Spain three days ago.


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Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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