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2005 Rory Mcbeth

Rory Macbeth is all student, like a brassbandsman’s glove stuck in gin. On his desk in London lies a broken sandal from Central St Martin’s, a crushed paper hat, and a communist militant text that names Frances Neil at the bottom. Frances has perfect pitch, as if randomly freeing a bird whose textile-like fur is snagged – and she stammers venomously at the muledrivers of the Universe.

Rory Macbeth cherishes above all things the night that spits out a curse, less public than a locked zoo in autumn, more hand-held animal than the sickly dabbling of a farmhouse hob. Some beeswax, sucked up in 2005, is altered in a bad way when Saint Servolo excavated a ditch in the lagoon which was flooded. This salty gamble, on which Macbeth had to stop spending, was undeterred, and cost him 20 teeth. A hundred gods closed the scene, and halted psychiatry; upset little men would doubt the word that bends a farewell into shock-therapy for the departing guests. Macbeth broke the 300 metre record.

- from the German text about the work of Rory Macbeth by Dr Sandra Danicke, translated by Rory Macbeth who does not speak German, and is not using a dictionary. He is currently translating a Franz Kafka novel ‘The Wanderer’.

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