There’s a battle, an epic battle, a struggle for life and death and for a mate, playing out in front of us, reflected in your eyes and your actions. His quirky narration comes out of the screen, pokes through the jungle leaves. The animal cries mix with your own sounds now. Instinct urges you to bite the head off first, but you really should take off the legs so they can’t get away. You’ll have more time to enjoy it: a shortbread cracker reenactment. I think that’s a buffalo.
Victoria deeply regretted her decision to stay sober that evening.
I’ve written a fair deal of “sorry I haven’t posted in a long time” entries in my fickle attempts of maintaining a blog, so instead here’s a picture of a cowboy. Thanks for passing through, now go find that sunset.
I’m standing on 42nd street, smoking a cigarette. I look up and see a man walking down the street wearing a rabbit mask. I look back at my cigarette. The cigarette checked out. I look back up. Definitely a rabbit walking down the street. I’m going back inside – to order a rabbit mask.
“All these ups and downs, catching a wave, missing a wave… Dating you is like surfing.”
“Have you ever surfed?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
SMITH Magazine and PBS are collecting stories of people’s digital life, but you only have 6 words to share within. http://www.smithmag.net/sixwords-digital-life/.
It’s like a mirror into a mirror: digitally sharing what we digitally share. The new limit is 6 words. 140 characters is too verbose. We need to compress our thoughts more, be more efficient. Soon we will be speaking in only emoticons.
Her apartment was as empty inside as she was. No paintings, pictures, or decoration. Just a hole that she slept in. When she talked to me, her voice carried the echo of those empty walls. A faraway repetition, like she remembered things, but only when she was drinking. Beyond thirst now she sits cross-legged at the epicenter of the room she’s dying in, scraping at the vanilla pools of melted ice cream in the bottom of her bowl. That light in her milky skin.
We tried. I tried. Tried to fill each other up. That hole was all we had in common. Doing common things, acting special. That hole in her where everything drained out. She was never full. Scraping at the bottom of that bowl.
Clearly I won’t be eating here, but who knew that you could be shutdown for having a dirty mind?
I just started reading Vurt by Jeff Noon and I’m completely absorbed. This book has it all, love, loss, adventure, mystery, and drug-induced escapes into virtual worlds. This is exactly the kind of science fiction that I enjoy. Vurt presents a plausible future, a projection of our current course. It doesn’t carry the reader to some made-up fantasy world on an unpronounceable planet where everyone magically speaks English. Vurt is the human condition; it’s doing wrong things passionately and right things accidentally.
Forever ago I started several series, one of doors, one of windows, and one of locks. Each one was left in various stages of completion, or maybe I should say size. I’m going back to them now for at least a little while or at least long enough to add to them. I’m not sure that its something that ever needs to be finished. Like playing through Ninja Gaiden, I’ll just put it on pause whenever my fingers start to bleed. The series of locks were the most cohesive of the three series, but I’m realizing that they were all related. The window concept was a literal framing of shots, a way to restrict the viewer. The doors and locks support this theme of restriction. So, restriction is my new broader focus and will allow me to rationalize the continuance and combination of these ideas. (At least I’m not taking photos of brown paper bags.)
