Category: Writing

Misshapen

You are gone before you leave.

You roam through time like a fallen numeral.

You will be back. But you will not know who you are.

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So Help Me God … Maybe

I crashed into the world of God at the age of six, so close to the ocean that the sound of it entered my room at night when I said my prayers. But the ocean did nothing to save me from the daytime prowl of the nuns.

 

Random Sunday Personal Question(s)

Did you have a sweet grandmother? Me, too!

Did you have a crazy grandmother? So did I.

Day and night, those two.

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Photo Credit: Nathan Dumlao

And now, on to grandfathers. Mine: sweet? Not only no, but hell no.

According to family legend, one had his own children kidnapped because they went trick or treating on Halloween against his orders while he was off policing the town.

The other one was a little bit crazy.  But quite interesting, at least in theory. Possibly a Hollywood Henchman. More of a secret than a family legend, so I have my doubts.

Pity that you cannot strap DNA to a chair and demand answers. Or maybe that’s a good thing.

Little Black Dots of Progress

I’ve developed a secret code to fool my *editor. Will it work? Time will tell.

Here it is, at least a peek: a glorious mess.

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Little Black Dots

What sort of madness is this, you ask? I prefer that you guess. The 8.1 at the top left side of the page refers to the date. That’s your only clue.

* AKA: the infernal, internal editor, who, I have discovered, hates numbers. Score!!!!

Out of Nowhere: Mani-keys & the Rooster

Lord only knows where ‘we’ are headed with this, but I started playing with props for some sort of madcap art….

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Manikin carrying keys (Mani-keys) on an overcast Wednesday afternoon.
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The Oblique Approach. Don’t scare the Rooster, whatever you do….

And then a rough sketch to get everyone sort of situated … Or not.

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Charcoal, pencil,  and pastel

Mani-keys looks armed –  and possibly dangerous – in this sketch. And Rooster doesn’t look too happy about it.

Ah, well. Wednesdays. What can you do?

The Groundhog on New Year’s Day

Imagine the confusion. The invitation lost in the mail. Or still being processed. The optimists have conferred and found evidence that not all is lost. But you suspect that they simply forgot to tell you … something.

They will tell you that they forgot. Or you did. After all, there is so much going on.

You know. They know. It’s a dance that happens on certain days. But this day, they leave you alone, sleeping in your dark barrow, while offstage, shadows are rehearsing through your dreams.