As Writing 101 draws to its close, the staff is getting sentimental. They want us to describe the melodrama of a landlord evicting an old widow as seen by a twelve-year-old boy. Thanks, I’ll pass on this tear jerker. I’ll re-do this sad story into a grotesque story in the vein of Flannery O’Connor (whom
Month: June 2014
Neither Emily Dickinson, nor Sylvia Plath. No one should want to be emulating their a g o n y.
Writing 101 staff is getting Freudian. They want us to psychoanalyse ourselves by writing out our greatest fear. As Dr Freud enlightened me, my greatest fear already materialised itself when I was born a girl. In his apparent ignorance concerning women, Freud believed that girls were nothing but castrated boys. Every woman then suffers from
“Teacher’s Scotch Whisky” (top left): how, oh how did I miss this?!
This is me being creepy.
The cat is not weirdly striped; it’s just shadow play on her fur.
All I can say is my usual: whatever it is. Ronovan has a much better explanation, though: There she is again Staring at us with that thing We hide our eyes from her But we peek from behind a bud wing I wonder if she would keep snapping If she knew what came before Yes,
What’s best about this photo is that though it is retouched for colours, sharpness, contrast (ha!) and others, the sunburst and bokeh are indeed the real thing. In response to WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Contrast.
This statue looks very scared to me. Aren’t there any nice statues at all? In contrast to the unlovely statue, here is a lovely poem by my volunteer collaborator Ronovan (don’t forget to check out his blog!): I must say to thee, No, you are not welcome here, Now away with you.
This is a lot of trees growing from a single spot, isn’t it? A huge thanks to Ronovan for his poem to go with the image: Lean on me in age As the young ones grow taller, Their roots bring our fall.