I stepped out in this word today, and felt like I was solar flare surfing. The roads were grey furnace seas, the skies were the blue of angry flames, and idiotic mortals watched helpless, as their skins sloughed off.
How can I keep doing this to myself? Stepping out in this weather, then cribbing about it here? Soon I'll be waxing hate speech about Chinese tundra, might as well apprecIate Vit. D as gods inended.
Coming back to me casa, I dealt with my drawing, and a sudden crick in the neck persuaded me to temporarily quit this artistic pursuit for the evening, lest I watch my head roll off on the table. (Never a pretty sight I'm told)
Things are looking up; though it's not halfway done, many details that need be added, but the triceratops is completed.
Now what? Im reading, re reading some poems that I love.
Disheveled and slightly burnt.
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