Garlic, onions, something else and definitely fresh black pepper wafts through the air and hits me square between the eyes. Pastries, butter, bread, garlic butter, char, everything I need to make a simple meal for my stroll along somewhere one ought to perceive as beautiful but that is now no longer defined as such. I scratch that bit of scalp where your hair becomes face at the top of your forehead and worry, in dismay and self-conscious awareness, that I may perhaps someday go bald. Grey is a story all its own, one for which I eagerly await.
Nevertheless, the air feels damp, and my hair smells of the sort that is all nah-tchur-ahl, unadorned, raw. The smell reminds me of myself, oddly enough, but a younger self, a self that rarely went a day without a shower. When the rare occasion would arise wherein I need not shower on a given day, my hair always took on a certain quality all its own after about two days of being left alone. Fondness, a sense of feeling, being alive when I smell the scent. Garlic overwhelms me all over again.
The streets feel hard, lined with concrete, cinder-block, cement. Chairs are stiff, of the upright, iron-wrought, tiny wooden circle, bistro type. Tables barely hold enough items to satisfy one much less any company. Vanilla. I smell it in the air, and then, the taste hits my tongue. Vanilla bean. Following my nose, I stop in for a small scoop of iced cream. Tiny, the wooden spoon feels fragile but sturdy, the first plunge proves the latter. Bursts of cold and soft and the sensation that my mouth will indeed fill completely with the supple sensation of my mouth filling completely with flavor. Cool, warm, home-like vanilla.
The word, like all words of this nature that rattle around within my conscious mind for no perceivable reason, sprouted up from my unconscious and made itself known. “Moribund,” my narrator clearly stated with a little pop on the “b,” “bpbund.” I knew that it had something to do with mortality or the, what-have-you, morose. Read more
And I begin to giggle before the scene even unfolds. Will Smith’s character is whisper yelling at Martin Lawrence’s character inside a morgue. A small chuckle. Read more
It’s a barn. It’s a big red barn, just like the big red barns in the big books you used to read about farms, with all the animals. At least, it looks like a barn from the outside. Upon entering the thing, however, you quickly realize that wherever you are, you are not wherever the barn led you to believe you would be. Read more
“You said that last time, but what you fail to understand is that we’re in a large sphere.” Ladybug looks at the lorikeet, “What did you just say to me?” “Do you want me to repeat what I just said?” the lorikeet asks, while filling with concern. “Yes,” Ladybug demands. The lorikeet looks about itself a bit, “Well, I said that you said that last time, but we’re in a sphere.” “No, the other stuff,” Ladybug groans with a get-on-with-it gesture. The lorikeet lowers its beak and sighs, “I said that you fail to understand … “ “Yep, that’s it.” “I didn’t mean to …” “But you did,” Ladybug smirks. Content, the two continue fluttering around. Read more
If I overexpose myself, I will turn to pure light. If someone else overexposes me, I will turn to pure light. If someone inadvertently overexposes me, I will turn to pure light.
And you can’t put your finger on the impulse, but it’s strong. Whenever you see Paul Rudd dance, as you are well aware, you cannot deny how greatly you enjoy the specific quirkiness of his body’s movement to a beat. There he is, entertaining an audience for their pleasure, and immediately, he breaks out into lip-synced song and dance. Read more