As Kupal braced for another sleepless night spent wading through a sea of bakers and rough sleepers, he was overcome by a particular feeling he had known before, yet the name of which escaped him. He felt it at the low light watering holes that served him, the various mattresses on the floor that he found himself on, the abandoned rooms of industry where he and his friend partook and partied and the stickered bathrooms of exchange where he exchanged things for goods and services. It was called heaven, and to his shock, the book started to write itself, sprawling out before his new pinkish eyes. Illustrations, poems and semiotics.
Risograph printed in black ink
1st edition of 100
32 pages, 21 x 14.8 cm, softcover, Stray Pages (Naarm/Melbourne).