Out into a winter night, with snow and silence and fright. What's beyond the torch's light? Rubber boots on crunching snow. Oh, how far we have to go. An hour's trudge until sun glow gathers on the horizon. Then walk 'til the day is done -- again abandoned by the sun. We'll set up camp in the dark, try to get flame from a spark, and dread when next we embark... a few hours down the line.
Just give me a simple brick hut with its doors tightly shut, and a cooling crossflow breeze, shaded by banyan trees. I won't be expelled by AI or sold the daily lies. We can talk live, not by "hit send" -- clueless to the world's end.
summer dusk: our world is flat & black, while sky is textured.
The Bohemian writer Franz Kafka, more conflicted than Queen Jocasta, wrote tales, absurd -n- surreal... yet how factual they feel.
spring is here. the hills have greened. the field is plowed.
big, busy leaf:
light bullets through,
too fast to process.
What place in the world do you never want to visit? Why?
Mecca. I know where I’m not wanted (i.e. where there’s a sign saying my presence is prohibited.) Incidentally, I would go to funky, cold Medina in a heartbeat. Fun fact: it’s not cold (having not been there, I can’t attest to its degree of funkiness.)
boats rock in the bay, their languid motion watched 'til darkness swallows.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 