i've always had magnetic attraction for historical train wrecks. it is this one in particular that haunts me the most. it took place in 1895 in paris, crashing through the wall of the station and landing on it's nose some feet outside into the street. there was only one casualty.
it existed for a time in postcard form and carried with within different books and journals.what is it about this particular image that strikes me so deeply? it's surrealist absurdity for one. and secondly because it plays the strings of a very latent yet tactile fear; as a little girl i remember walking around long island with my hand in his and being afraid, terrified to cross over train tracks. it was a jinx, a hex, like stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk or catching sight of yourself in your periphery.
(this is a eyelash of a wound / a word spelled beneath a planchette)