i have no idea….I guess it’s a lesson in the random inner monologue? We all have one. Especially the rather non-vocal snail.
A little bistro called Meyra cafe in Cihangir, Istambul, September 2009. Ramadan was over. Eid in full swing. The wine was lush, the music jazzy, and outside past the red velvet drapes it rained and rained and rained.
pen & ink
The treacherous Mt. Sniffney- one of these days she’s gonna blow.
The Rubbish Bin brings you Reject Scribble #1: The Typewriter.
'Cause writers are like machines, right? Just banging out words. What if our fingerprints were like, letters? Wouldn't that be rad? Or if they harvested writer-fingers to make the ultimate ambidextrous writing-machine? Then any dumb-ass could wax poetic…yeah, never mind.
The Legend of Snowy Hollow
This is the Redundant Penguin.
Watch it shred in slow motion. It’s pretty bad-ass. Look! It carves all over the place. “Wow! Watch out,” says that tree. What’s it need that board for? That’s so redundant. But Redundant Penguin don’t care. Redundant Penguin don’t give a shit. He can carve on his belly OR on his board. He’s got options. Oh! He’s chasing a skier! He’s pretty bad-ass. What’s he have to chase for the next few weeks? Skiers. Nothing can stop Redundant Penguin.
Hitting a strike was a lot harder than he expected.