Archive for: November, 2006

Ink Blot: Pelvic Bone

In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.

ink blot

This week’s inkblot is a pelvic bone.
Growing up in a lake house my family had a dog-named Flash. He showed up one day under our car all malnourished and shaky, until we fed him some grits and he stuck around after that. He’d run off for days at a time, though, and sometimes when he came back he’d have buckshot in his skin. Once he came back wearing a multicolored striped child’s shirt. I guess some kids had stuffed him into it; he was a pretty friendly dog so I bet he played along willingly.
We lived next to miles of undeveloped forests, so every once in a while he’d come back with some mysterious bone in his mouth. Remains of animals were common around our rural neighborhood, turning a corner in the woods and finding a snake or a bat or a deer or a set of their bones happened all the time. It’s funny what kids get used to quickly, especially in the death and shadows of the country.
Flash, the wandering dog of my childhood of bones, once ate the car cover for my stepfather’s BMW, or tried to. My stepfather wanted to kill him because he was wild and could not be tamed. I cried on the dog’s behalf until my stepfather relented.
Years later when Flash died of old age, my stepfather made an engraved plaque for his grave.

The Crows Of The Ocean

you and I
the crows
of the ocean
sang songs
of devotion
then folded
our wings

but you and I
missed the split
in the sky
that told us
the story
of the day
we would die

you and I
the crows
of the ocean
sang songs
of devotion
then folded
our wings

Ink Blot: Twin Sisters

In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.

ink blot

I see two identical twin sisters lying in a claw foot bed, sharing thought balloons with winged edges. Above them, dreams of astronaut dogs in space helmets have already begun to take shape. From the way their heads are tilted inward and toward the foot of the bed, I’d say they’ve reached an agreement on some decision regarding you, the viewer. If I were you, I’d be wary of girls who dream of dogs and their look-alike sibling.

Ink Blot: Pippi Longstocking

In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.

ink blot

I want to say Pippi Longstocking, but I see a rope bridge, too. Wouldn’t a rope bridge be the kind of place you’d find Pippi Longstocking? Coincidentally, I trace my long and complicated relationship with literature and nudity back to Pippi Longstocking and the book of 1950’s radio bloopers in the cardboard box in my grandmother’s guest bedroom with the immaculate carpet and the foldout couch with the bedsheets that felt like old tortillas. The bloopers book, in addition to being hilarious to me when I was a kid, also featured minimalist nude illustrations to accompany the more racy content.
Thanks to an imaginary girl who lived with a monkey and some long dead radio personalities, I learned that I loved books and I loved nakedness, leading to me being told I was a nerd by a pale faced bug eyed girl in fifth grade and an elaborate plan for stealing my stepfather’s Playboys from his bedroom in middle school. That bug eyed girl got sunburned in Cancun on Spring Break, so that was a kind of tropical Pippi-eqsque justice, and I eventually saw naked girls in person and so had no need of Playboys any longer.
This leads me to conclude that all’s well that ends well for literate fans of soft core pornography, as well as for unsupervised wealthy horse-lifting children.

Ink Blot: Roosters.

In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.

ink blot

I see two roosters looking up at the trees, waiting for the leaves to fall.
Yesterday I saw this punk rock guy walking around under a tree that was turning colors and dropping leaves on his head. I guess he was a bit of a rooster himself.
This morning I was walking into the bathroom and it occurred to me that dead men who stay in this world as ghosts to resolve unfinished business probably turn into leaves on the wind when they move from place to place this time of year.
When I was walking to my car to go to lunch I got to thinking about how many different things the word “ghost” could mean, and then my car wouldn’t start in my front yard until I opened the hood and shook the battery cables, and when it was done I stared at the dirt on my fingertips while above me the branches of the trees resolved the unfinished business of shedding their leaves.