-Hungry, the cool blue girl weeps by the window. Her cerulean hand hangs limply off her thigh as she draws erratic breaths. Her troubles keep catching in her throat.
-The garbage boy belches in the alley and wipes his face. Grease on grease. He is furious at nothing and seethes like mildew and potash and wet, rotting cabbage. His entrails coil out his purple belly and grumble.
-The beechwood lady touches the parchment of sandwich wrapper to the crown of her lips: a gesture to feel younger, to feel the crayon and baking flour of her early summers. She is top heavy on splinters and stilts and never appears steady. This is her own keen deception, to be a moving target. She feels married to the sea and thinks she was a longshoreman in another life.
-The aluminum man bends his hair-thin frame and crinkles in the light. He is all lines, all terrible wrinkles in a craggy sheen. His age is written in the lines; they are permanent fixtures that etch the veiny fractals of his tenure. He is trying to pick up his newspaper but the headline stays his hand. Simple verbs shout stark black and gray at his feet. A welder soldered his tear ducts so he sparks when he cries. This moment, he pauses and his sockets explode in fat droplets of plasma, of cosmic light.
Today's Drawing (inspired by an undead support group)
Today's "365" Project (Do something with fingerpaints. I made quick homemade stuff and played around a bit... )
"Cool Blue Girl"
Today's Runner
JOE COOK (Proxy for Susan Cook)
TOTAL DAY'S MILES: 4.64
-The garbage boy belches in the alley and wipes his face. Grease on grease. He is furious at nothing and seethes like mildew and potash and wet, rotting cabbage. His entrails coil out his purple belly and grumble.
-The beechwood lady touches the parchment of sandwich wrapper to the crown of her lips: a gesture to feel younger, to feel the crayon and baking flour of her early summers. She is top heavy on splinters and stilts and never appears steady. This is her own keen deception, to be a moving target. She feels married to the sea and thinks she was a longshoreman in another life.
-The aluminum man bends his hair-thin frame and crinkles in the light. He is all lines, all terrible wrinkles in a craggy sheen. His age is written in the lines; they are permanent fixtures that etch the veiny fractals of his tenure. He is trying to pick up his newspaper but the headline stays his hand. Simple verbs shout stark black and gray at his feet. A welder soldered his tear ducts so he sparks when he cries. This moment, he pauses and his sockets explode in fat droplets of plasma, of cosmic light.
Haiku of the Day:
I shared my train seat
with a writhing black house fly
in the throes of death
Today's Drawing (inspired by an undead support group)
Today's "365" Project (Do something with fingerpaints. I made quick homemade stuff and played around a bit... )
"Cool Blue Girl"
Today's Runner
JOE COOK (Proxy for Susan Cook)
TOTAL DAY'S MILES: 4.64
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