exclusive_reclusive
Do I wear the bracelet?
I avoided answering your question.
Easier, via text, after enough time has elapsed
The truth is: the volcanic beaded bracelet
Pinches the hairs on my skin
It doesn’t actually remove the hairs
Therefore, it returns to the same positions frequently
and pinches the hairs, all over again.
Shortly re-tune-in and come back soon, not waste too much time to find out more, about this magnificence from a lowly background, in this openly revealing, world premiere interview especially rearranged for orchestra by Brinkinfield. What follows in the form of an excerpt, is a teaser trailer type of thing.
Brinkinfield: We’ve worked together for nearly over five years now, you’ve contributed all the artwork for all my writing since then apart from once, when we fell out. Over all that duration of time, I don’t believe that I’ve ever read an actual interview with you.
Can you explain to your fans, where exactly, your inspiration origins?
pedrov_dog: Well, first-off, hello to everyone, it’s a pleasure to be here within such palatial surroundings. And secondly-off, that’s a very good question.
Continue reading “CoMiNG SooN: aN iNterView wiTh aN arTisT”1.
If you take a jolly good look around – and I mean a rootin’-tootin’ jolly good look around, there aren’t many women in the world with naturally blue hair. Very, very, few, as evidenced by the facts. Hair scientists say this rare phenomena occurs due to a specific genetic defect caught unawares, buried deep, about halfway down within the spiral structure of our DNA.
Conversely, as a committed appreciator, I say naturally blue hair is the eighth wonder of the world, a biological miracle, invoking a sense of much awesomeness. No less, I say, than a heavenly blessing from God’s can’t-leave-it-alone tinkering fingers. Still, to this very day, I can recall in reasonable-to-fair detail, the circumstances as a young teen, when I saw my very first one.
Continue reading “Natural Blue”I tell you details about my life
I tell you things
I’ve not told anyone else before
not told to anyone
I don’t know if you know this to be true
When I look at you
When I’m telling you
Folding clean clothes
in a front-facing bedroom, now spare
through the window listless I stare
Until I spy
riding high
upon a small bicycle
This pink-faced giant of a white-haired old man
stopped with his pedalling
a’coasting and a’buzzing
Leaning into a sharp loop
he pulls up outside the tavern
attempts a quick and clean dismount
Nay! Something’s amiss!
Something goes wrong
he’s caught up in the waver of a mid-air kiss
The man in the pink cardigan
knew his mission in life was to run
But his knobbly knees
and excessive liking for cheese
meant he sweat’d way too much in the sun
all across the lands of the world
people will wear
whatever clothes they do dare
without fear
all remnants of taboo
are now removed
by the international council
for clothing and shoes
Bessie waited impatiently as the paper target neared her, carried along by the antiquated, creaky rope pulley-system. Meanwhile, a twisting plume of grey-coloured smoke wisped out slowly from the barrel of an H&K semi automatic Universelle Selbstladepistole Elite 45, left abandoned on the counter top before her.
As the light bulb overhanging her shooting booth flickered briefly, she heard movement coming from behind.
“Do you think – perhaps – that you might need glasses?” A male voice rang out into the desolate aural soundscape.
Startled, Bessie spun around aggressively, to find herself staring directly into the rich brown-coloured eyes of a man several units of measurement taller than herself. The stranger had a kindly face. Immediately, she believed his words of wisdom had emerged from an altruistic place, quite probably released from deep within his velvety heart.
Continue reading “Bessie’s Aim”“A banana requires no knife
to split open.”
I said to my wife
But the look cast
within her eyes
brought forth an uneasy surprise
“What did you give up for lent?”
I asked, in an attempt
to thwart ill intent
I asked, “Exactly, how did my penis become
so utterly ugly,
gnarled, knobbly,
and a lot less fun?”
“With age.”
Said the wise old, medicine woman sage,
pointing and waving her shillelagh
between my crossed legs
sat in front of her
