(Credit: darkcrystal1209 on DeviantArt)

Scratching at the paint with a red lacquered fingernail, I wonder whether I will ever see the original wood again.

Notwithstanding the flaking, the desk is white all over, and maybe it is even white all the way through. Could it really be that there is no wood, only layer upon thick layer of paint and varnish?

I am determined to find out, even if only a woody skeleton will remain in my study.

With foaming Ajax, I attack with first a sponge, using the rough side, then steel wool. Powder is washed from my hands, but I ignore it even when my nail breaks. Sweat makes mascara run into my eyes, but it is only a small distraction. A small distraction from something that I have wanted to do since forever. Or at least since I gave it my own layer of paint.

I feel that I am getting closer with every layer lost.

Closer to that real, original thing, which must be there.

The carpet soaks in water, paint and make up.

The legs grow thin, as my lipstick smears.

I must be getting there and soon.

The small drawers are already gone.

My hands and knees dissolve.

Is that my hair?

What is left?

I am.



With help from

We Meet Again

My old nemesis writer’s block has reared her ugly head.

Do you know any good writing exercises which might help me chase her off?

Or maybe some inspiring artwork?

Please let me know.

74 Are You Challenging Me?


(Credit: EricMargera on DeviantArt)

My tongue burns from the tea I drank too quickly, but the burning from you insult is worse. Sitting there with your can of Monster energy drink like it is nothing. What are you saying with that? You open the can with a click and a fizz and I can already smell the sickly sweet additives polluting our breakfast. Are you saying that I will not dare say anything to you? Well, you are wrong mister.

‘This is MY house, we play by MY rules here, and don’t you forget it!’

You stop with the can at your lips. You lower it. ‘What?’ you say, raising your eyebrows.

‘Get that affront to everything out of here.’

You look at the can in your hand. ‘What, this?’

‘Don’t you act all surprised,’ I say, ‘you know perfectly well how I feel about stimulants.’

‘But it’s just an energy drink,’ you shrug, ‘what about coffee?’

‘Coffee’s traditional. Now get it out of here before I ground you.’

You pick up your school bag and the Monster can. I hear a ‘whatever’ before you slam the door behind you, and I know that the war is not won yet.

Theatre Masks


Theater Masks Silhouette.png

(Credit: Elizabeth J. Aragon,

Can we change masks now?

I am getting tired of crying, and I think the wrinkles in the brow are making furrows in my brain.

You promised me that they were only masks and that they would not change who we really are. But during the days which turned to weeks which turned to months, my face seems to have been ever better moulded to fit this grotesque façade, and I worry that time will turn these foreign features to stone.

So give me your smile.

Surely, it is my turn to be the happy one by now.





From a Correspondence Between Someone Whose Name it is Better not to Mention and Myself


(Credit: Three Coins in the Fountain, Jean Negulesco, 1954)

My dearest [Erased],

How have you been since our last meeting?

I have had a bit of a cold, but I assure you that I regret nothing. In fact, it would bring me great pleasure to see you under similar circumstances in the future.

I heard they fished a jacket out of the fountain. It is probably yours, but I think it would be best if you do not claim it. The buttons are ruined anyway. I recommend that you find one with larger buttonholes, to make it easier to disrobe in the future.

Speaking of the future, will you meet me on the little stone bridge on Wednesday evening at eleven o’clock?

I will bring your cane.

– Your Mermaid

Three Little Texts – Clovertoes (2 of 3)

Rabbit eating clover

(Credit: Hubert J. Steed)

Clovertoes hops out from the bushes and nibbles a mouthful of clover.

‘Look!’ A voice cries. She looks up and sees a young boy trying to point without letting go of a pile of three cardboard boxes in his arms. In front of him walks a young girl carrying two similar boxes and behind them is a woman dragging a huge blue suitcase and a man with a huge black suitcase.

‘Look,’ the boy says again, ‘a bunny!’

‘Maybe it lives under the house,’ says the woman.

‘Do you think it’s tame?’ asks the man, ‘it doesn’t seem at all afraid.’

‘No one has lived here in years,’ says the woman.

Clovertoes keeps her eyes on them as they walk up to the front door, but continues her meal. They are the ones who should be afraid, she thinks. Clearly they don’t know why the house has been empty for so long.

Three Little Texts – Quicktoes (1 of 3)

The large ones blunder blindly up to the house carrying piled cardboard boxes and hauling suitcases. Why have they come, Quicktoes wonders, don’t they know that their kind is not welcome here?

Step, step, sneak. Quick little toes across the garden path behind them. They haven’t seen her yet and they never will, although she will knock over their vases and pull their hair in the dark until they are chased away for good. And hopefully they will leave quickly, she thinks, otherwise Clearcloud will take action, and nobody wants that. Not even Clearcloud.

Gulls Fleeing


(Credit: Glenda Green,

Gulls are screeching overhead. Some are resting in their nests others circle high above, and I know that if I go much closer, they will swoop down on me. I sit down on a rock and watch some of then fly out over the ocean. More follow them. And more. It seems the whole colony is out there. I frown and look to the cliffs. They are empty, they’ve left their nests. All of them at once. Why would they do that, I wonder, as I gaze after them. Then a rumble behind me spreads to under me and I look to the volcano.

Then I wish I too had wings to flee out over the ocean.

69 Annoyance

Angry old man

I am most certainly not just an angry old man, I just need people to stop being such idiots around me. I mean, look at this, all my toast is ruined. How am I going to make a cheese sandwich now?

I don’t care about her age, if she’s old enough to toast bread, then she’s old enough not to burn it.

I could have had more bread, but someone couldn’t read a shopping list. I put three things on that list, and white bread was very first one. Three things. And you came home with all these lichen fruits or whatever they’re called and pomegrenades and no white bread. Not a single slice.

Well I can assure you that I will do all my own shopping in the future.

Hopefully they’ve got those machines now, so I can pay without having to deal with those imbeciles they put behind the counter.

68 Hero


I need a hero, but not you.

You’re strong, no one disagrees with you on that,

And you say that you’re just, no one dares disagree with you on that,

And that is the problem.

Heroes should always be honest of course, but shouldn’t ordinary people be allowed to be honest too?

And when you help people, it seems it is only with your own interests in mind.

I heard you even charged old Mrs. Higgs for getting her grey tomcat down from the Christmas tree in the square.

And your eyes. They’re so hungry.

I fear that if I fell into your arms, I’d never be free again.

So if you are the only hero available, I think I’d be better off with a villain.

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