Saturday, March 23, 2024
Old Clay: Puck in Repose
Before the glazing.
Not sure of the year.
I did catch the trickster sleeping.
Thursday, March 21, 2024
Friday, March 15, 2024
Hi Dad: Good Memory
1996, I think.
Seaside. After a stormy and wet charter fishing trip out on Monterey Bay.
Dad and I were skunked in ever-drenching conditions, and Dad was always prone to seasickness.
Fish courtesy of a kind cousin.
Still counts.
Thursday, March 14, 2024
Alter-Ego(s)
Singular or plural?
Perhaps one more than another?
From left to right:
Tyr of the AEsir;
Robin Hood (or Chaucer's knight's-yeoman);
and Unferth Blatthersbane.
Just saying.
Bran Mak Morn, Fafhrd, and the Gray Mouser: Rereading Around
I have been rereading these stories since 1973 or so.
Friday, March 8, 2024
Saturday, March 2, 2024
No Story Without Lines: A Poem
THERE IS NO STORY WITHOUT LINES
The lines on your face.
The lines on your hand.
The lines in the sky.
The lines in the sand.
The lines you wished you'd said.
The lines you wish you hadn't.
The lines that link
The lines that block
The ink that stains
The keys unlock
The lyrics to the tune
That refuses to stop
The lines you plow
The seeds you plant
The times you harvest
And the times you can't
No stories without lines.
No lines without time.
Too much, too little -- time.
So many many lines.
So many lines you waited in
To reach this place, this time, this state:
This fractured fissure where --
Against fault, against fail --
You can begin to tell the tale.
-- Matt Duckworth