The old man was delivering seedlings to a nursery in a beat-up truck — its platform fenced in by scrap-wood panels.
It was the start of a new day: The man wore a yellow shirt — loud as unmitigated sunshine.
A shovel jutted up from the center of his flatbed— its handle to the sky, as if the spade were staked into deep earth.
There is a certain element of death imbued in writing. All of it is a sort of last gasp. Perhaps why I oftentimes wear black. In a way I cease to exist. In the rare instances when I am noticed, then I have a willingness to vanish. Not altogether, but enuf that you won’t see me. I would like to be a fly on your wall. Maybe not a fly but a lizard, although not poisonous. Just nosy.
A large sculpture in the library lobby purposely leaned at a slant on a pedestal to give it the effect of falling. It made me think of nodding off.
People sat at tables — some read, some spoke, but it was hard to make out what anyone was saying.
Their indecipherable voices carried up high to the lofty ceiling and dissipated like smoke — maybe from burning incense?
The sounds in the lobby reminded me of churches, with their drafty, cavernous interiors. There, too, voices murmured, only they were prayers. Continue reading
I get up early, around 5:30, regardless of whether it’s a workday, and I’ll do some writing or I’ll do some reading, or else make some visual art. And I’ll have coffee.
I’ll also do some thinking. You know: Hmmm, how did I get into this situation? How do I get out of it?
We are all in situations to one degree or another: a job that makes us miserable; a toxic relationship; etc. My mind is fresh in the morning and more capable of tackling such things. I read better and I write better, too, ’cause I’m sharper and more alert.
But no, I am not one to wake up and bolt out the door in the morning. Anything but.
Mr. Mustachio is basically a walking / talking, bristly & dark-haired mustache who is debuting a cable TV show.
A round beverage coaster who wears a sombrero on occasion, his show will be titled, Drinks Are On Me. He will discuss cocktails and other mixed libations during segments, which will be filmed on a kitchen table.
He also will share stories about the times he’s had at the 24/7 dive bar in Las Vegas where he used to work, until a customer slipped him into his pocket and brought him home, where he is now, unfortunately, used primarily for coffee, tea and sometimes domestic beer when friends are over.
Overall, the show is a way for Mr. Mustachio to relive the days (and nights) that he loved so much while working at the bar.
The ducks had trust in the two little girls who were approaching.
Actually, the ducks were Canadian geese. Elegant creatures that added class to the playground.
One girl’s name was Brooklyn, and her mother assured her the geese would not attack.
Brooklyn’s younger sister threw grass at them, offering it as food.
The other day on National Geographic’s safariLIVE!, they showed rare footage of a baby elephant charging at the nature guides’ jeep and then retreating. Charging and retreating. Never coming closer than within 2-3 feet, its ears flopping as its mother loomed in the background.
The guides and cameraman held fast, laughing at the fledgling’s repeated bluffs.
Eep is the word of the day. Cry of distress.
Eep, it’s only Wednesday.
Thickets — “She arrived through the thickets.”
Eep reminds me of British mystery theater on PBS.
Use eep or thickets in a sentence.
Excited to have three flash Misfit Docs published at Queen Mob’s Tea House today. My stories include one about crafting a Pam Anderson doll.
All in all, Pam will be an almond-toned, anatomically correct, windswept Wonder Woman
I love Misfit Docs. It’s one of my go-tos. Here’s the link to my stories for those who are interested.