Category: AI Art
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0206: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
Part 12.1, Brigid’s Diary: Arles, France, Spring 1836 The Yellow House and the Thin Law We took rooms at 2 Place Lamartine in a yellow house that looked like warmth from a distance, and up close smelled of damp plaster, fried onions, and bodies worked too hard for too little. Around us, the neighbourhood spoke…
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0106: Liturgy for a Starry Night
Liturgy for a Starry Night, Part 12.1, Arles, Spring 1836(where beauty is the last thing left that belongs to us) I. The Yellow HouseIt sits on the corner,mustard yellow, warm to the eye,a promise of shelterthat the nose immediately contradicts. Damp plaster. Fried onion.Lingering acrid smoke from firesthat never fully caught. This is Arles.This is…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Heron in the Birdbath (An Almost Diplomatic Incident) The heron has arrived.A tall, grey-blue silencestanding knee-deep in the birdbath… like a librarian who’s forgottenwhy she entered the reading room. THE OLD WOMAN’S VIEW:“How majestic. How serene.A living sculpture,a breath of wildin our overgrown garden.”She reaches for her sketchpad,her tea going cold. THE CAT’S VIEW…
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30.05: Journal of Thoughts
Stream of Consciousness: Blackfriars Station Southbound I listen to the steadiness of train tracks. It’s an older song now, replaced by long steel rails humming with boredom. The conductor scans the code on my ticket, mumbles something, walks on. Summer gathering on the verges. Spring was only a skipped heartbeat. Wild rhododendrons blooming pink as…
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Ten Things of Thankful
This week was filled with cars, friends, and weather that was really hot — temperatures that broke all previous records for May. Heat never used to affect me, but that was back when. I sat in the shade reading the user manual for my car, and drinking homemade fizzy lemonade. I live where the number…
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27 May: Journal of Thoughts
There are songs in my feet. I turnthrough the kitchen, waltz morningonto its toes. Sunlightclimbs the trees,green wakingleaf by leaf. No audience, only the kettle,the floorboards, and this small happinessmoving through mewithout permission. Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.
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26 May: Six Sentence Story
The Accent of Exile Brigid’s Diary: Part 11.2, Avignon, Spring 1836 I crushed a sprig of tansy between my fingers when the fishmonger’s voice split the morning, “Hear her English accent; she stirs rebellion,” and a bitter, cold metal scent spooled in me like warning smoke. The market thinned into silence so quickly it felt…
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25 May: The Liturgy for Accents
Part 11.2, Avignon, 1836: Liturgy for Accents That BetrayWhere the crowd turns on a syllable I. The Unforgivable DifferenceSometimes — it is how you say it. The foreign curl of a vowel,a rhythmlearned elsewhere. Brigid’s accent rises like smokeabove the herbs,the ointments like smoke from a fireno one sees. She asksfor chamomile,for arnica,for small remedies…
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25 May: Journal of Thoughts
Train Window Poems (a stream of consciousness poem) Four, I suppose. Curly hair,dark as loam. ‘for mange gamle mennesker’,he says to his mother. Too many old people. She kisses the top of his head. He has no ideaI speak Danish too. I smile.Wink. He stares. What does a child thinkwhen his assumptions fail? May yours…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Conquers EuroVision(Or: A Feline Bid for Continental Glory) The cat sits before the TV,tail curled in concentration,watching a man in sequinssing something unidentifiablewhile a woman in a flying saucerplays the violin —or possibly weeps.It’s hard to tell. “Old Woman,” he says,“what is this Eurovisionand what is a Bulgaria?Is that a fish?Can we buy…
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