Friday night the wife and I walked around our quaint shire. The drizzle and cold so much like an English story. Dr. Heckle and Mrs. Fine skirting the church yard, embers of stained glass spilling out onto the moist lawn, yearning for a Trappist. I have problems with my peers at times. I feel they can be so un Hobbit like with ambition. When you are connecting they are networking. Climbing in this topographically featureless bog. You look into the eyes, chroma shifting, attempting to resolve, pupil from iris. Like phantoms their avatars glitch from platform to platform arms dripping...Lord of the Rungs!
abrupt skits, painful theatre, improv of the absurd
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Elevenses
Friday night the wife and I walked around our quaint shire. The drizzle and cold so much like an English story. Dr. Heckle and Mrs. Fine skirting the church yard, embers of stained glass spilling out onto the moist lawn, yearning for a Trappist. I have problems with my peers at times. I feel they can be so un Hobbit like with ambition. When you are connecting they are networking. Climbing in this topographically featureless bog. You look into the eyes, chroma shifting, attempting to resolve, pupil from iris. Like phantoms their avatars glitch from platform to platform arms dripping...Lord of the Rungs!
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About Me
- Russell Maycumber
- St. Augustine, Florida, United States
- I spill ink ,it collects here.
1 comment:
i do so despise networking eyes.....even though i may beguilty of it in my own feeble way. it may benefit my ego if i were to look only at the mouth or chin or left earlobe of the recipient with whom i am conversing....if i can develop a metaphorical scrotal sac then i'll snap my righthand fingers and say, " HEY....OVER HERE.....I'M NOT EVEN CLOSE TO BEING DONE!"
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