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Staglieno Cemetery. Statuary

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Time to ditch these pants

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Where to?

It's very dark and I'm in the car

Mom is driving

She's had a psychotic break

She's terrified and paranoid

And we are traveling at high speed

Down no-name streets through an anonymous city.

It is very dark

Let me drive, I say, I can drive

Staring through the windshield, she says with irritation, don't you understand?

I need a phone. 

I tried to hand her my phone. You think you're funny? I need a real phone.

She threw my phone back at me. Not one of these. 

Be useful, she said, look for a payphone. 

Look mom, I said, pointing, right there on that corner. A phone

Oh, I don't have time for that, she said as she plowed right by it. 

I could tell she was getting even more agitated. 

She hit my leg with her fist. I-MUST-NOT-BE_LATE

She hurt me. Rubbing my leg, I said okay, mom

We traveled fifteen minutes in silence

Her foot pushed the brake. We were slowing down. Where are we, I said.

Here, she said. We're here.

She turned right. We were in an empty city lot.

Not empty. In the middle was a large helicopter. Guarded by armed men

Stay here, she said. No prob I said, I'm not moving. 

I won't be needing these, she said, handing me the keys.

I watched as she strode towards the helicopter.

Men saluted as she climbed the stairs and disappeared inside.

I watched as the stairs were stowed and the helicopter disappeared into the night sky

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rhedeg i ffwrdd (runaway)

Rhedais trwy'r goedwig, gan wrthdaro â changhennau â drain wrth imi ddychmygu'r bwystfil yn rhwygo popeth, gan ei deimlo yn fy nilyn, heb newyn ond â chynddaredd llofrudd. Roedd y rhostir yn asphyxiating, roedd fy aelwyd ar fin ffrwydro ond fe orfododd yr ofn anghonciadwy i mi fynd ymlaen.

Nid wyf yn gwybod pa mor hir yr wyf wedi bod yn rhedeg, ond mae'r gwaed yn glynu fy nillad; heb reswm rwy'n troi o gwmpas ac yno y mae: rwy'n syllu ar y llawr, nid wyf yn meiddio edrych arno, ond rwy'n teimlo ei fod yn gwenu, yn fy gwawdio. Mae wedi fy maglu.

Mae casineb ffyrnig yn gwenwyno fy nghorff; Rwy'n ildio ac rwy'n ymosod: rwy'n brathu, rhwygo, crafu; Nid wyf yn gwybod a yw'n gwrthweithio, rwy'n cael fy nallu gan y cynddaredd ac mae'r hylif ffres yn fy swyno ... rwy'n ei fwynhau? Rwy'n symud tuag yn ôl yn ofnus a dim ond wedyn rwy'n gweld fy nghorff dismembered fy hun. Fi yw'r bwystfil!

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Underground Darkness Group ☠

Nolla Marfie  ·

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train's final resting place

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No Smoking

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Darkness Enchanted

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“Es ist ein Unterschied, ob man sterben

will oder ob man keine Lust zu leben hat.

Wenn man sterben will, dann will man

wenigstens etwas. Ich will nichts.”

― Katarina von Bredow, Syskonkärlek

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"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, ‘Why God? Why me?’ and the thundering voice of God answered, 'There's just something about you that pisses me off.'" -Stephen King

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So Long, suckers

The house stood high on the bluff overlooking the ocean. It was built fifty years ago at a safe twenty foot distance from the edge of the thirty foot cliff. The gentle uphill slope had been leveled at the owners' insistence. They paid a pretty penny, they said, for the ocean view they thought they would be getting.

The owners didn't notice anything worrisome until one winter twenty-five years ago a particularly wild storm carried away the lady of the house's bed of hydrangeas and petunias, which she had planted fifteen feet from the back of the house. The lady was uncomprehending. "Someone has stolen my flower bed." "Stolen your flower bed?" her husband replied. "Well," she said "it's gone." Her husband knew right away what had been happening. He sat his wife down and explained that the house has maybe another five years before the cliff edge would be at their backdoor. "I'm afraid we're going to have to move," he said, "and the sooner the better." His wife was horrified and distraught. "There must be something we can do. Call the contractor. Surely he can stop the sea. Something."

The five years passed quickly enough. Each winter another slice of the cliff fell into the sea. Each slice thicker than the one before. At last after a biblical storm had attacked, the house was teetering on the very edge of the cliff. One giant burst of wind would do the trick, the house predicted. And then it happened. The house slid slowly, and miraculously intact down what remained of the cliff. And waited for the next high tide.

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What is this? The wooden box is 17 cm x 3.81 cm It contains what appears to be a weight painted gold that is 151 g. We found it among great grandfather's belongings.

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Taken at an NYC parking garage. The wait can be long

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Prazeres Cemetery, Lisbon

One of the resident cats

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My cat gives the best scratches.

Frightened by the vacuum

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Macaroon says “Don’t make me move”