ㅁ Rain added slippery contributions to the road's packed snow; nothing really melts much, but nor does it truly freeze, instead you get a joyful slush that makes your driving a stressful thing.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Rain added slippery contributions to the road's packed snow; nothing really melts much, but nor does it truly freeze, instead you get a joyful slush that makes your driving a stressful thing.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ The dog and I walked up ten-mile hill. Our breath made wisps in the cold air, like hieroglyphic wind-signs on ancient codices. The dog pushed her nose into snowbanks, detecting silent mice.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Norma came into the store today. She told me she'd missed me a lot. I do her framing projects, she had brought a new one. She's an old woman. Then she announced she'd been sick: a small stroke
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Dog versus the forest: He follows trails, reads the messages along our path by nose, takes small detours through gold leaves, overlooks the rushing river, full of water from the recent rains.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Right. No, left. We were lost. The signs were vague. So then we backtracked. And we found the clinic. The doctors agreed it's hard. The hospital is like a maze. All the building is nothing but doors.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ First there were served some appetizers. Then, not long after, the turkey, the mashed potatoes, gravy, but also a ham, and yams, something with cranberries, and some green salad, pasta salad; a short break... at last, pie.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ "Pathological optimism" was the pithy phrase he applied to characterize himself. My father wasn't wrong. It has vast problems. But at the least it avoids hating things.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Perhaps it is inevitable, the narcissism of old age: our world becomes more opaque and senses betray us; we retreat inward, stories repeat, all the world becomes flat.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Things I miss about Los Angeles include the smell before the dawn, tacos within a short walk, the whooshing sound of cars, Spanish overheard, broken sidewalks, mad traffic, oak trees, dirt.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ My father sleeps with all the lights on. I wonder how it affects dreams. Will my dreams attenuate, during my visit here? It's intentional. Lights on... now sleep. But still, I prefer dark.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The fence presented haphazard rails: janky intentionality, more a symbol of a fence than anything useful... and still it said "fence" where you see it and can feel the path's closed.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The city gave reassurances, anonymous but palpable; the population did things, pursued goals and knew signs, all without guidance, all on their own, inventing, living, real.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Indirectly, the bits were altered, or rather, manipulated, via high-level symbols, small, language-like fragments so appearances began to shift and pixels redrawn, changed
– a nonnet.
ㅁ In the end it wasn't the weather that ended my treehouse sojourn, rather, my uncle's issues with his declining health suggested prudence and I decamped. The attic, again, home.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Some said that they left no stone unturned, but that isn't how it happened. The search was desultory, and stones were left unturned. In fact the stones won: they kept secrets, bided time, waited, hid.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I've slept in my metal clad treehouse every night for three months now. But lately it's dark out there, and the nights grow colder. Uninsulated, with a screen door... I'll move out. Winter comes.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ i was baptized in barnacle blood as i scraped at the boat's bottom and used the pressure washer to blast off the black bits until at long last i decided that was enough so i stopped
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I went to get lumber in the rain. Fred's driveway was a vast mudhole. Wading ankle-deep in mud, I loaded the lumber sticking out the back of the Chevy and drove home... uphill, down.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The dog found a discarded deer's foot lying in a ditch by the road. Bits of flesh clung to the joints. She was quite pleased with this. The bone was held high, triumphantly. She gnawed it, and pranced. Yum.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Blink. Open. Look around. I see nothing. It's completely dark. Oh, the faintest light, there. That's waking up before dawn. So I turn on my little light, Put on some clothes, exit the treehouse.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Mostly in town, I don't see eagles. But high over the parking lot, a single-minded eagle swooped down from a treetop, sighting a nice snack, or just for show, in morning's drizzly mist.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Dull. Quiet. Standing there. No one came in. I vacuumed the floor. Outside the town was dead. I had no framing to do. The store was quite unpopular. The whole day, we had five customers.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Yesterday, I made my first window for my many-angled treehouse. Of course it is imperfect. But I put in some glass, applied some putty quite messily, and looked out at blue sea.
ㅁ Yesterday, I made some fish curry. I started making curry paste, with the mortar and pestle I'd bought in Korea; then I fry onion with zucchini, tomato, last, add fish.
ㅁ dog snuffles down the road smelling flowers... gotta smell that tree! oh, here's a piece of trash! nice, a mud puddle to drink! oh, look, a bee to try to eat! yikes! ouch. that bee is not so tasty.
ㅁ rain comes down continues and then pauses you get used to it then when a patch of blue appears between parting clouds strange clarity amid gray whisps you feel somewhat disoriented
ㅁ I feel happiest just watching things, external to interactions: the struggle of living things trees, bees, birds, fish, eagles... a theodicy of small creatures, if you will, fighting death.
ㅁ "Look!" they said. "This journey," they continued, "is impossible. The geometry's wrong, and the shape of space and time will soon lead all of us astray." They sat, shaking their heads, crestfallen.
ㅁ Of course the stones were arreptitious, just existing in the present: a passing truck might raise up their weighty singing souls only a moment then flung sideways they'd lie down with weeds, lost.
ㅁ This one time I woke up so hungry. I went downstairs to get oatmeal. Eating at strange times is bad: discombobulated, I will forget when things should happen. Anyway, I ate. Done.
ㅁ I rose up through the air on my wings and made sweeping circles, slowly surveying the trees and rocks tasting the salty wind until in the end I chose a spot and swooped down and perched there.
ㅁ Numbers emerged like leaking water, filling up the machine's hard drive. Gradually, the space filled. Baroque bits of data spread themselves over virtual planes, surfaces until full.
ㅁ See, sometimes I wake up in the morning so very early and take the decision to just remain awake, then, and perhaps to try to write down a bunch of syllables: a nonnet.