W2

We take a break from your regularly scheduled programming to switch from writing to drawing. Today, Mindful Creations Adventures In Monotangles 5: W2 (as the title says.

Idiot

Liam wasn't surprised to see his father sitting a few rows away. The judge called his case, robbery this time, muttering faintly audibly "the goddamn apple doesn't fall far from the tree, eh?"

Change

A spray of pine needles found umbrage on the breeze. They'd left the mother tree with no quiescence. A swing of blankness ripping wild off the bark. Gone in flapping panic. Quietly hidden.

Wind

The world goes 'round and I am its toy. Like a cat with a bell, it bats me across the room, spins me around on my ass, drops me from great heights, and then tucks me under its smelly armpit while it takes a nap.

I don't believe in destiny or fate or that there really is any sort of grand purpose to life. And yet the more forcefully I don't believe, the more life pushes back, sending cryptic messages floating endlessly in my bathroom sink until one day I notice the corked bottle and pull it from the sudsy warm water.

The rolled up note inside says it all. Intention clear as a bright winter noon. Causality unshrouded. Purpose gloriously revealed. Except the note is written in ancient Sumarian and I cannot read it. I know, somehow, that I am holding the keys to the kingdom in my hand, but they are slippery with soap and my fingers fail to grasp them. Down the drain they slide and with them my chance for enlightenment.

I say "my chance" as if there is but one. With questions so large, surely there are more chances. Because I know the answers. Somehow. Somewhere deep in my thick skull I know there is more. Perhaps I simply choose not to try. Perhaps I am scared. Or tired. Or too damaged.

Eventually the cat hits the bell hard enough and it no longer rings. The world has no use for a bell that cannot chime.

Perversely Proportional

During my long career drafting briefs which were destined to be hacked up in committee, I discovered this unflagging rule: the less time spent on the first draft, the more people like it.

Sharp Dressed Man

This week's 100 Word Song Challenge is ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man." As my second try at this challenge, I feel I have found a better groove with this one. More of an inspired by, and less a reworking of the words, as I (probably mistakenly) did with my prior entry. Here we go....

"Mama, want to wear your sunglasses!"

Little does my three year old know that his Mama has absolutely outrageous taste in sunglasses. From giant white square frames to bedazzled bug-eyes to priceless retro specs with chains instead of arms that hang from the ears like earrings. And little does he care. If it is good enough for Mama, it is surely good enough for him.

He looks absolutely ridiculous in each pair. Still, I take a photo of him every time, and keep an album of his Elton John looks. A once in a lifetime opportunity. To feel loved unconditionally.

Zombie Knee

True story....

The doctor droned, "The skin has deteriorated. We will have to use cadaverous skin."

"My knee will have zombie skin?"

"No! The skin is cleansed."

"So my knee will just snack on brains?"