I’m not at all knowledgeable when it comes to art. It wasn’t even available as a minor when I attended the University of Hard Knocks. The closest I came to collecting art was three Vargas girl pin-ups from 1973. Here’s my interpretation of this fine piece of sculpture.
This week’s photo is courtesy of Lora Mitchell.
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Erastus was exhausted. The 80 A.D. Olympics were only eleven months away. He had been working extremely hard since his disappointing finish three years ago.
His corporate sponsors insisted he grow a third wing to boost his chances in the decathlon. The extra appendage had improved his time in the running and jumping events, but a hindrance in the discus and javelin.
This morning, Pannychis said she felt the earth move when they kissed. He smiled. It was just Mount Vesuvius rumbling.
Now, covered in dust and suffocating, he put his head between his legs and kissed his ash goodbye.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Flash Fiction, and Poetry
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
Confessions of a Delusional Maniac
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.