A small room inside a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.
At my bedside sits Book 4 of 5 in Les Figues of Los Angeles's TRENCHART: The Logistics Series: Cunt Norton by Dodie Bellamy.
Cunt Norton is a continuation of a project that has its author "cunting" extant texts (in this case, the English canon -- from Chaucer to Ted Hughes) to produce not their yonic equivalent but an unfolding.
Here is the opening of "Cunt Ashbery":
The inside of my cunt is a bit sore, as I sit here
between sea and buildings. I've ridden your horse
and I write this as a child, imagining prayer as
merely silence. All I can think of is fucking you on
sand and seizing your bush, plastering my portrait
along your whole body.