It is the last day of the month. It is my personal superstition that to do things on the last day of the month is to increase the probability of their occurrence on other days. (This also applies to the first day of the month.) So I have cooked and cleaned a little, and, though my heart wasn’t in it, having received two reminders of things over and done with, I’ve created this minimalist acrostic/image card. Abs is for abdominal muscles; Orb is for that “cold-hearted orb that rules the night;” Ent is for that singular creature of J.R.R. Tolkien’s invention, a humanoid partaking of a tree.
An allotrope is one of at least two arrangements of the same atoms in differing array. A burden is represented here as a pack mule loaded down with another’s possessions. A sailboat is often delightful.
Watson and Crick were the scientists who found that DNA, the stuff of life, was double-helical in form. Even Linus Pauling, supernally brilliant as he was, didn’t deduce that.
I have a feeling of deja vu. Have I done this acrostic before?
In these parts, if you say “Figures!” it means “Obviously, that was going to happen!” But in Artland, Figures are human forms represented by some sort of expressive medium as pencil or paint.
I love to do sketches of the human from in various attitudes. It figures that on my day off, I would relax by doing this.
I hope I haven’t spoiled the sport of the man who’s holding the fish. I would be hypocritical to denounce fishing. I’ve enjoyed fishing myself, though it’s been years. But thoughts occur, and with them seeds for more, such as the many ways Spoilsport might be interpreted. Spoils sport: To the victor go the spoils. Spoil sport: a mutant fish’s putrefaction. I the Spoilsport, tainting a happy moment by taking sides with the fish. The fish the spoilsport, not going along with Survival of the Fittest. The fisherman the spoilsport, ending a creature’s life on a whim. Th’ gods the spoilsports, creating such somebody’s-gotta-lose-here situations.
snag yourself a smallmouth Bass
place its fate within your grasp
oleo a pan with goo
in the cove with boat at moor
LIKE & tweet bon appetit
You have eaten ambrosia, naif
You have tasted buffets at Vee Quiva
U have been in the dark in a new story arc
U five-star near & far till u like to infarct
Mastication verbatim–will U take ye bait? O
Mayhap a tomato au gratin won’t scar
I work for a restaurant. We provide made-from-scratch meals as part of a dining experience intended to relieve, fortify, and empower the bedraggled traveler. We charge airport prices. Overwhelmingly our diners think it’s well worth it, judging from the repeat business (“Laura on Thursday,” for instance) and wonderful comments our diners make on their way from our place to their flights.
Today I ate a breakfast brioche prepared by Bertha’s Cafe. The grill marks on the bread somehow made the sandwich taste that much more exquisite. Cooking is an art, not a science.
Here’s my artist’s conception of Toni, who when I started at Matt’s was so welcoming, calling me Baby and making me smile. She has consistently won the hearts of diners as well, who have gone out of their way to forward compliments to our management about her superb service and professionalism. Ask her how she’s doing, and she’ll tell you “I can’t complain.” Truth is, she could, but she never does.
fields epithelial and fallow
elevate onward, windborne
and though unpossessed of persona
there is a seeming d e l i g h t
hopping hastening hopscotch
even a waltz-rhythmed dance
raising the sight of the Viewer
Epithelial cells comprise feathers.
Study in graphite and chalk pastel, 7″ x 16″.