I’m Sorry About the Bracelet Gift

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.

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CoMiNG SooN: aN iNterView wiTh aN arTisT

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.

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Natural Blue

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.

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When Life Plays Out Like a Roy Andersson Film

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

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Bessie’s Aim

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.

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