CLOAK/1.9

The Studio Visits

I want to build a tin cathedral where people go to worship when it rains. I'm looking for durable lightweight materials, I'm looking for something like the alien spacecraft skin from Roswell.
A student guide evincing the iron-poor blood of the flea market addict begins their tour at a design studio crowded with models of three-dimensional wall treatments, cocoon corners and pass-through slits. Projects make magic circles around untidy workstations where proponents of the branched look debate fans of the alveolate over the placement of pockets for regulated, utilitarian seepage.
All the texts here seem afflicted with apfois—the apostrophe in the possessive form of It.
It's so hard to know how to pronounce things in foreign languages because you never know if you're supposed to use an accent.
Of course the Revolution will not use apostrophes.
Idle man stands every few dozen yards prompt the Senator's sympathetic lower back pain.
- Go on disability!
REALITY IS POISON, CLOAK IS THE ANTIDOTE.
Two men watch another wash it off the wall.
Pause to observe a professor's critique of her sculptural ceramics class—
Filmic—ten objects laid out in a row on a shelf.
She likes brunettes.