No wolf, were (ware? wear? where? we're?) or otherwise, was harmed in the making of this carpet.
Only a sheep.
Which makes it a werewolf in sheep's clothing.
(It is a real sheepskin. A gift from a friend. I was told it was from a breed called Drysdale.)
The following is a public service announcement.
Um, more or less.
You may revel in those pretty sweet smelling flowers and cute little animals. Laze about 'neath the shade of a (no longer weeping) willow tree, but that is precisely what they want to put you off your guard! They are actually biding their time. They have been for a few, er, millennia, gathering information on us, evolving.
You think bird droppings on your auto (or head) are bad? Just wait until they go nuclear.
Nature has had enough of our falderal.
As we speak, the noble immobile are pulling up roots and training to become the ambulate!
We need to worry about the one in the article below, especially!
(It may well be a plot to first rid them of our elderly retirees!)
Anyway, my apologies to Joyce Kilmer for the altering of his poem with the following-
'Ode to the Manchineel'
I think that I shall never see
A poem as poisonous as this tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth infests
the earth's rancor beknowing breast;
A tree that looks at us all day,
And tempts with leafy arms her prey;
A tree that may in Summer snare
Corpses of robins in her lair;
Upon her bosom she hath slain;
And intimately inflicts pain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But, OMG! why’d you make this tree?
Has anyone else noticed Joyce seemed to be a bit too preoccupied with breasts?
(OK, OK, so, yes, I admit, I wrote all this just to post my altered poem.)
Joyce Kilmer's actual poem-
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
(See what I meant about his preoccupation with a certain part of the female anatomy? Mmhm.)
and just stumbled across it again. It's still a good idea. I think I will create it.
Anyway, here is almost exactly what I wrote him (names and citings have been omitted to protect the identity of said friend)-
OMG! I got this idea! You know how people love babies even though they drool, poop/pee their pants & vomit on themselves & others (which i'd like to see someone coo & gootchy over an adult that did so :| it's ye olde double standard. oh, and it's EWW)? Well, and I dunno if this has been done before, didn't look, (or if I had mentioned it before, bcz, you know, I have so much to say and all), it just came to me whilst lying on the bed staring at a lightbulb in the ceiling fan's lamp, anyways...ready for it? Baby's first comic book! Maybe even make it as like a 'Pat the Superhero' (aka 'Pat the Bunny', I guess that could sound a little pervy, 'Pat the Superhero', but you get the idea. Actually, the superhero could be named Pat and that would work. A kind of non gender specific superhero. Yeah, that WOULD work.) A baby's comic with simplistic things to do, then later create something more advanced like a child's graphic novel with like pop-ups & crafts having to do with nature & recycling! Something to encourage protecting environment (which is thus protecting animals, nature & ourselves, and you know, get it to them as children just like Catholics do with their religion via CCD, for example. Um, when put that way it almost sounds like Commies & the KGB :/ probably not far from truth...sorry, only joking, blame it on the lightbulb :)
I'm seeing stuffed toys, board games like 'Shoots and Hammers' no, wait, still in Russian mode ;)
ANYWAYS, my brain is out of breath with all this thinking!
It is a good idea. Don't think it had been done at that point in time (several years ago), dunno if it has been since. It would have been perfect for a comic the friend had been creating, but, alas, he abandoned it.
Remember a while back I had promised that one day I would post a painting of my nips?
Well, the time has come.
It is ART, since there are rules and regulations about baring one's ACTUAL breasts/chest on some sites.
I had planned on having curtains that could be drawn back exposing my nipple art, but I haven't been feeling well lately, so it's just going to be a bare bones exhibition.
(I want you to imagine much fanfare. Cello, harp and violin music, cocktails and hors d'oeuvre being served, etc. )
(Feel free to titter and/or guffaw)
First up, I give you
'The Persistence of Mammary'
Next (which I finished today whilst feeling ill, so bare that in mind), we have 'Starry Nipples'
And last, but not least-
'The Teat-ery of Images'
Wasn't that titillating?
I'd like to thank the artists, wheresoever their souls may lie, for parodying their work. I learned much from the experience, actually.
Mine are rendered in watercolour, whilst theirs were done in oils.
In viewing the pieces up close, I realized they are not as detailed as I had originally thought. Van Gogh's Starry Night, for instance, when viewed up close, has a very childlike quality, there were even exposed parts of the canvas. it was created whilst he was in an asylum.
Anyway, I have fulfilled my promise.
Next I will be working on the music and lyrics of the Knaughty Knightly Ditty, as promised, so stay tuned.
Afterthought for those who are not familiar with the originals on which the parodies are based-
Salvador Dali's 'The Persistence of Memory'
Vincent Van Gogh's 'Starry Night'
René Magritte's 'The Treachery of Images'
Yes, yes, my renditions pale in comparison, and not just because they are watercolour vs oils.
There ARE deviations, some done purposely (bird's beak instead of nose), others because I grew tired and lazy. I don't enjoy doing scenery, I like doing portraits.
PS, I love and fear bold colours. Envious of those who execute them successfully..
(And fyi, no, my boobs do not drape over tree branches, ledges or anything else for that matter. Wanted to clarify. Belatedly, I know.)
The first alone, 'the shunning' (not to be mistaken for the similar sounding film) is simple passive aggressive bullying, the latter, however, ostracization, may be painful.
I believe they (the shunners) torture, first by placing you (the shunee, not to be confused with the native american tribe with similar sounding name) on the rack, stretching the neck and legs. This is followed by tar and feathering. You can't fly away, but don't stick your head in the sand, stand tall (which you are now if you weren't before), be proud and featherly defiant. They can't ruffle you anymore, at least.
End of dissertation.
Can anyone hear me?......Is there anyone out there?.......
I think I must be marching to the beat of the wrong frequency.
My vibes are not connecting.
Doctor Phyllis Pharaday has a new post.
Apparently something about a family reunion.
You can find it here, under her Phamily Album and Personal Journal.
She asked me to mention this. She and I have no other association.
Maybe I am not even real.
Maybe I am just the embodiment of someone’s emotions.
Like specific ones.
Like fear and sadness.
Might be why I can only be happy for a few brief moments.
Because that is not my job. Happiness.
Almost like being a bacteria (beneficial kind) that imagines itself as a human.
Or longs to be one.
the conversation you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the indolent, um, insolent, er, incident, ah, yes, the innocent.
3 days, 1 hour a millennium ago......or thereabouts.
'I’ll drag you lot into the future even if it kills, maims or causes me severe emotional and mental issues . . . we all know the last one is the most likely.'
Marcia M.<(middle name Marcia) Marcia:
What if i’ve already been there and didn’t like it? The future. Or we all have but I’m the only one to remember it? Huh?
Anyway, if you end up institutionalized from all this (and I'm not saying you will, I’m just not allowed to disclose the future, you know, the non-interference code and all), I’ll visit and bring you cookies and comics. I promise. :)
Actually, I’m tens of thousands of years old, just like everything else in the universe (I guess, depending on what you think it’s foundation is, like energy/matter.)
Hey, maybe I’m a god and am just so old I’ve forgotten. Is that blasphemous? I don’t really mean it. Though, honestly, I suppose we are all gods unto ourselves, maybe? We hold ourselves responsible, or not, for our actions?
K, now my head hurts. Maybe it’s a tumor.
(Shhh, don't tell anyone, Marcia Marcia Marcia is actually me. Shhhhh!)
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