Category: AI Art
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1701: Ten Things of Thankful
1. Thankful for the warmth and comfort from a big pot of homemade soup. It’s good for all that ails. 2. The first hint of spring as crocus leaves appear through the crisp edge of frost. 3. Sunshine and blue sky on Tuesday. The fences steamed as the thawed. 4. This week’s Six Sentence Stories. I had a…
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1301: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions She anchors her black stiletto heel to the bar stool; the ritual wait for a man that doesn’t exist, polishing the fantasy of him until it shines. A muffled laugh works loose, a private rebellion echoing in her throat — the kind you make when a voice you invent leans in and…
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1201: The Voice, A Six Liturgy
A Liturgy for the Hollow & the Heel The Invocation This is the hook on the polished stool,the calling of lacquered lightand murmuring ghosts. This is not emptiness,this is a chamber.The Bistro.The Stiletto.The Anchor.The Hook of the Night. The Invented Whisper. Of Anchors and Architecture This is sacred geometry.This is waiting.The black heel,the spike of…
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120126: Calarcá
Calarcá, Colombia: Two Days Before Christmas I.Night View The village square is a wound stitched with fairylights.Luminous sutureson the velvet of night. The plastic kings in earnest ride,the donkey, a cow,and Godnewborn abide. And from the church,a martial woven pleamarches forward in lockstep harmony. But turn your eye,just turn your head,the alley breathes beside the…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Garage SagaOr: The Cat, The Porsche, & Grand Theft Auto The Old Woman stands in her tidy, overly-organised garage,phone to her ear,staring at her car that hasn’t moved in a month.On her screen, the tracker app glows: THEFT WARNING! A voice crackles through: “Ma’am, our system shows your vehicle is stolenand it’s moving through……
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10.01: Journal of Thoughts
The Thimble and the Hummingbird I. The Inheritance of Absence I keep few things.A silver thimble, a rocking chair,and a preference for memory over monument.Objects shed their stories like birch bark,curling inward, fragile, ghost-scripted.But the thimble holds the shape of her fingerprint,the chair holds the curve of her spine,and I —I hold the space between.…
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09.01: Csárdás
Csárdás — (myth in the bones, fire in the blood) It begins with a single note.Thin. Aching.A thread of winter smokeunraveling from a fiddle. The room stills.Dust rises like memory.Somewhere in that soundis a field at dusk,an empty chair,a story your grandmother once whisperedwhen she thought you were asleep. But then —the pulse strikes. The…
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0801: Ten Things of Thankful
I’m back home after a glorious holiday with family. I am thankful to have seen a Savannah Hawk land a few metres away from me (in Anapoima Colombia). Its wingspan was so large that when it took flight, I felt the pressure of the air under its wings. To see the night sky in all…
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0701: A Six Sentence Story
Clinging to Small Solid Facts in Six Sentences We talk about Venezuela, as if naming it might steady the water, and I drift in the jacuzzi like a bubble, briefly convinced of my own shape. I mention that Einstein had flat feet — facts don’t ask questions because saying something solid feels like ballast against…
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05.01: A Liturgy for a Bubble
A Liturgy for the Bubble in a Current Once upon a time We gathered at water’s edge,in a jacuzzi between the spokenand the dissolved. We knew when a metaphor was not a metaphor,but a bubble wearing a skin of air, and we spoke to the Brief Republic,the Spinning Borders,the diamond thinning to memory.We called it…
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