Catherine Daly

Catherine Daly is.


Cigarette smoke spills from her red mouth, demonstrating chaos. Voices, movements, shift the smoke, take us where story and image deteriorate.

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A narcissist immersed in her own voluptuous< wickedness, she is a state of mind, the image of an irreal city more than a place, a blurred figure going in and out. Sensuous camerawork, romantic atmosphere, gowns, balls, staircases, polished, epigrammatic …

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Did she or didn't she? Does she, or doesn't she? Her legs are two wild claims, disruptive assertions raised to the level of staccato shouts, become vehement lowering. She leads with her feet. Only eyes walk up the seams of …

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Last night, again I wandered through the world where everyone's implicated as though I'd become a shadow alone, the lonely implied, not entangled, not entwined, bound to keep supplying motive, delivering drive, tourist, audience, flying trap to trap, puzzling spectacle …

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