Tag Archives: silliness

Hot Flash Fiction 10: At the Very Back of the Shelf

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In Dash’s closet there was a very hard-to-reach spot at the very back of the top shelf, and he was quite happy that his younger sister Mattie couldn’t reach anywhere near it. There was a large jar there that he prized beyond any other thing he owned, even his pocket knife and the doll that he loved as long as his parents would only call it an Action Figure in front of any of his friends. The jar gave off a very faint blue glimmer that was even visible on the darkened closet ceiling after the bedroom light was switched off, and it pulsed comfortingly at young Dash as he lay across the room gazing on it while drifting off to sleep each night, dreaming eventually of the wonderful things that would happen when the creatures he kept in the jar finally came to their full maturity. He remained, as far as I know, blissfully unaware that they were beings of his little sister’s making and left for him to find and nurture. He may have begun to wonder what exactly was brewing when his Action Figure seemed to have moved to the far end of the shelf one morning of its own volition and then disappeared entirely until it resurfaced at the end of the week in the bathtub drain, one arm missing and covered with some kind of sticky corrosive ooze, but I imagine that he guessed Mattie might have had a hand in this trickery. The relocation of Dash’s pocket knife underneath the heavy jar was a harder to explain, more puzzling development.digital collage

Psychedelic Psanity (an Orison to Orange)

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digital illustration from a photoI’ve been known to be loud. I’ve worn bright colors, I’ve shouted, and I’ve been opinionated. Much of the time I’m more modest and even occasionally somewhat self-effacing, and more often than not I’d rather anyone else be the center of attention, but once in a while I do just let
‘er rip and enjoy the noise.

It’s possible that my sometime dislike of bright orange reflected my then predominant shy and introverted parts. When I was little and not yet worried about others’ opinions of me, I chose as my first self-selected garment a coat of the color in today’s illustration, and I wore it proudly and felt like a (miniature) queen in it. Now, ten years after beginning useful treatment for that nasty old anxiety-and-depression cocktail that had drizzled over me in the many subsequent years’ passing after that coat purchase, I appreciate bright orange again. But in that middle time I was a nervous and insecure type and orange was far too ebullient and exotic and full of uninhibited good cheer for me to even look upon it without a twinge.

You know what, though? ‘Orange’ and ‘twinge’ may end with the same sound, but they sure don’t rhyme, and I can’t think of much else they really have in common either, so why should I let the fact that I look awful in that color (never mind my generous childhood self-image) steer me away from delighting in the joy and sunshine that orange represents and just allowing that loud, reckless, gleeful color to shine all over me. Maybe even though I might not be able to be orange enough myself, I can reflect the joy and sunshine of orange a bit. Whee!

Mad Cat, Bad Cat

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graphite drawing + digital mattingMurderous Mack

I prowl the alley on dark nights, looking for trouble spots and fights

And hissing, spitting, yowling, loud, my claws and fangs splitting the crowd,

So don’t be fooled if I look fine: wildfire is in my feline line–

My zoot suit is as cool as ice; my blood, though? Hot, not cool; not nice–

I’m fast, I’m fine, the cat that has searchlights for eyes, wild stripes for jazz,

A heart of iron, soul of steel, and toughness that’s dead deep, for real–

I’m fuzzy, but I warn you that I ain’t no prissy pussycat;

I’m lean and mean; I’m slick and sleek. But sweet? I’ll kick you to next week!

Get me riled up, it won’t be pretty–Bad Cat, yeah, but never Kitty–

All the same, at home a tub of cream is nice; a belly rub;

I’m tiger tough, to say the least, but hey! I ain’t no senseless beast–

Don’t cross me, ’cause I’m fierce, although I’m not an animal, you know!digital illustration

I Dance on Their Graves

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digital illustration

Epic Epitaph

 

Let’s just keep this

Short and snappy:

Yes, I’m dead;

Some folks is happy.

Yes, I had

The plague. Ahem,

They’re all infected.

Joke’s on them.photo

Her Misbehavior, as Seen in a Slightly Foxed Mirror

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Oops! I outfoxed myself. I was so distracted by the odd weather we’ve been having here lately and all of the ways it’s unexpectedly altered our calendar and our plans (though my birthday came today right on schedule, wink-wink) that I completely forgot last night to put up the day’s post. So I did it today. A two-fer. Just to remind all of you how much I love you. Thank you for your patience. I may be getting a little absent-minded in my old age, but I still think the world of y’all. Happy two-post day!

Vulpine

The vixen, when she deigns to leave her den,

May have designs on other vixens’ men,

For, little as I know the ways of foxes,

I know they don’t like being kept in boxes

But rather like the freedom just to roam

To any den, if it should look like home,

And any male they’d like to have as mate–

Beware the vixen’s wiles, ere it’s too late!digital illustration

 

Flantasia

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graphite drawingThe Warbling Flantical

Upon a promontory sat the Flantical, in coat and hat,

In curled toupee and beaded gloves (the sort his sort of person loves),

And sang a tune so bold and sweet, a choir gathered at his feet

And joined their voices, fine and strong, to this his pure and sacred song,

Admiring both his vocal fire and handsome mien in that attire,

And so anon, the Flantical and choir closed their canticle

And all dispersed, but all retained the melody that still remained

In head and heart; that is the story born upon that promontory,

And each Flantical now loves to sing it, wearing beaded gloves.digital illustration

Look What I’ve Done!

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graphite drawingWhile I will readily admit to having laid an egg, and a prizewinner at that, many a time in my life, I have neither done so in physiological terms nor, as the bird in today’s illustration appears to have done, in the supernatural way that allows said egg to levitate spontaneously.

On the other hand (or wing), I have managed to score a few modest accomplishments of my own, which, while hardly supernatural, at least impressed the heck out of me. And I rarely, in these cases, fail to make the bragging announcement.

The most remarkable thing about all of this is not that I have ever accomplished anything at all (let alone worthy of note)–though this is indeed impressive enough–it’s that I may have once or twice done something moderately grand and not felt compelled to trumpet self-aggrandisement.

Or did I just cancel out that small virtue by saying so? It’s just so hard to be humble.digital illustration

Alienation

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The aliens are very disappointed in us. If we wreck all the prettiness of the planet and use up all its treasures, what’ll be left for them to conquer and acquire?

Of course, this might seem like motivation for us pusillanimous pigs to keep trashing the earth–eliminate everything desirable and we’ll never be attacked by aliens who want it.

Except that even in our dullest-witted science fiction, we tend to acknowledge that alien races not only might be light years smarter and more advanced than we are, they probably also have different needs and desires than ours.

So they might just be sad because we haven’t managed to wipe ourselves out quite yet, meaning that they’ll still have cleanup to do when they arrive.

Marauding and usurpation are just as much hassle as ever. Unless we perfect self-annihilation as quickly as our present rate would seem to presage.

Do aliens smile?digital illustration

The Time is Out of Joint

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digital illustrationDo you ever feel like something unnatural or supernatural has taken hold and everything around you is suddenly unfamiliar and not what you’d always known it to be? That chaos reigns and confusion is dimming the lights and obscuring everything useful and meaningful from your sight? Do you have those times, too, when you may be quite sure that this will all pass and the atoms of your universe will subtly shift back into the places where you expect them to dwell but that for the moment, what should seem normal and clear and knowable to you is utterly inscrutable and bizarre and impossibly at odds?

Have you noticed, as I do remember to notice eventually, how often this happens around holidays and tax time?

Yeah, I thought so.

Crawling & Leaping

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photoDo or Die

I am not brave, not big and strong, and change gives me the creeps,

But when the moment comes along, my crawling turns to leaps,

Because my innate sense of time and self and hope, my drive,

My dreams and aspirations, climb and make me feel alive–photoSo much so that I can’t keep still, must jump right up, arise,

And spring to action, and I will push onward to the skies,

For all that lies ahead is unknown, hid, but what may be

Is great and magical and fun, is grand and wild and free–photoIf I don’t take that daring chance and forge ahead at speed,

How will I, short of happenstance, find anything I need,

Or grow, improve, achieve, emerge? How can my sorrows sleep?

I know I’d best just fight the urge to crawl, and rather, leap!digital illustration from a photo