LONDON…
April 28, 2019
By this guy (grown old):
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a sigh. Down the mountain, the cook descended to the dungeon and shoved rind scrapings through the bars at the cruel king. In the Great Hall above, Queen Anne Marie hosted the villagers, proclaiming universal happiness for all save one, the cruel king.
hunks of bread. The scullery maid had no name, but secretly called herself Anne Marie. The green imp nodded his head in company with a thought. Yes, it shall be so. Anne Marie shall rule. The imp reached a green hand out over the pool of broken blue green jade. The pool rippled
Otherwise, he posed motionless. Down the mountain, dawn found the castle and all but one of its inhabitants sleeping soundly. In the castle’s kitchen, the scullery maid sang as she hurried about readying all items to serve the cruel king his breakfast of meat between two torn
THE GREEN IMP'S TREASURE #fairytale The green imp, hidden in a cave behind a crash of waterfall plunging over the highest cliff on Jagged Mountain, gazed at his treasure, a magic pool of broken blue green jade. The imp’s bushy eyebrows, snow white, quivered with pleasure. pic.twitter.com/jtpsS5AE8u
BAD LITERARY MARRIAGES #dada #literature Uriah Heep and Little Bo Peep The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Auntie Mame Hester Prynne and Huckleberry Finn
4 of 5 stars to Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler goodreads.com/review/show/39…
FAY #dada When Fay was this young, she designed, built, and fired a torpedo; never ever screamed, not even once; sold buckets of beach sand to gullible tourists; scaled the Matterhorn dressed as an owl. pic.twitter.com/iPAu6FCyRH
glide in joy. Until. Your ankle. Something has grasped your ankle. You are pulled backwards and up. You are hauled from the sea to dangle, hanging upside down, thrashing. You see her. There she is. You die.
into the open. You stop to listen. Measured rustle of spilling waves and nothing other. Intensely aware, you labor across the sand and plow straight into the water. Confidence expands. You are in your element. Down you plunge to snake powerfully forward. Thrust and surge, you
UNDER MOONLIGHT #horror The moon, full fat, begins its climb sliding up from behind the abandoned lighthouse. You survey the beach and the gentle churning of the surf. Not a living creature do you see. Are you really and truly finally safe? You take two deep breaths and slither pic.twitter.com/XNXbQ9AEGi
JULIA MILLS #poetry #nonsense ‘Hast ever been in thrall to the venerable bede? I hast myself since long ago when first I learned to read. And now I must be off to live another day.’ Thus so saying, with visage stern, Julia Mills sped away never to return.
CONVENTION #flowers pic.twitter.com/2tFHdfYW19
HAPPY SPRING FESTIVAL DAY #spring pic.twitter.com/v634azAi6o
5 of 5 stars to Sounder by William H. Armstrong goodreads.com/review/show/39…
2 of 5 stars to The Word Is Murder by Anthony Horowitz goodreads.com/review/show/39…
wailed Mavis, and she turned her face to the sky. And before Beppo could pursue the matter further, the village, its occupants, and the rose garden vanished. Mavis knew whereof she spoke.
encountered Mavis Fenwick on the garden’s outskirts. She sat in the path, sobbing. “Whatever is the trouble, Mavis?” inquired Beppo. “Oh, it’s over. It’s over, over, over,” moaned Mavis, wringing her hands in twisty despair. “What’s over?” said Beppo. “It’s the last day,”
of the Fenwick clan for longer than even the village librarian could remember. “Oh, longer than long have they been in charge,” she said when queried by strangers as to the origin of the rose garden. One morning in May, Beppo Pont, thatched roof maintenance engineer’s aide,
THE VANISHING #flashfiction The village was small and sleepy. Villagers never ran. They strolled, pausing to converse with neighbors or observe the bounty of nature. Benches in the rose garden were seldom unoccupied. The village’s pride and joy, the roses thrived under the care
CONFRONTED BY SPIKE FINN AND HIS GANG OF TOUGHS #floralmenace #dada pic.twitter.com/7mPP2Jrgck
IN THE LAND OF PINK AND GREEN #dada #poetry in the land of pink and green i wandered so serene nibbling bliss from a comb of honey when a thief wandered by and stole my money pic.twitter.com/BgrSQ2cr4q
4 of 5 stars to Ireland by Frank Delaney goodreads.com/review/show/39…
Pedge. “Zounds,” cried Lyle, dropping the mandolin and running away. Pedge was rewarded by not being garroted.
fierce and incredibly dangerous. Therefore Pedge, the Fool, was assigned the task. With a hey-nonny-no and a funny hat to aid him, Pedge confronted Lyle near the mill. “I've heard that mandolin strumming is really fun for a long time, and then suddenly you die, nonny-no,” said
LYLE PERSEPHONE #dada #lore When Lyle Persephone strummed his mandolin along the lane, the lane emptied. When he took to the stage, mandolin in hand, the theater emptied. Is it any wonder that the king sought volunteers to snatch Lyle’s mandolin? Nobody volunteered, for Lyle was
RECIPE FOR GIANT BREAD #dada 2 cups ground Englishman bones 3 golden goose eggs 1 pinch nutmeg 1 tablespoon adder yeast 1 cup bat milk Craft into baking pan. Bake. Stab with dagger after 1/2 hour. If blade is clean, bread is baked. Set on sill for five minutes. Devour.
EXCERPT FROM AN EARTHWORM'S DIARY #dada March 28 - processed dirt. avoided bird's notice by maintaining silent rigidity. processed dirt.
Millie. Millie was a rickety stick creature with soft yellow feelers. “This is more like it!” thought Millie, and she wobbled stiffly and happily all around the garden. Share:
and fourteen potions later, a lovely garden surrounded the witchly hut home. Millie drooped back inside, casting her wand aside with a shrug and a sigh. “I’m still bored,” she said. “Nothing ever happens.” Brunna, without looking, tossed spangles from her cloak pocket at
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