Tag: a.i.Art
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The Old Woman With No Cat
A Trilogy of Feline Digital Disasters (Because cats—love chaos) I. TUTORIAL HELLScene: The cat is perched in front of a laptop, watching “Crunchy Tuna Unboxing” videos. CAT (squinting) “This is research.”OLD WOMAN “It’s been six hours.”CAT “Silence, woman. I’m cultivating my aesthetic.” (Off-screen, the crow livestreams the whole affair.) CROW (voiceover)“Day 1: ‘Artist’ has forgotten…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Pandora’s Cat (part 1) An ancient leather-bound box arrives — Pandora’s scrawled across the lid in ink. Inside: a tiny meow. Whiskers twitch, a kitten, ink-black, curled around hope as if a secret, and the old woman laughs, lifts it — all warm, trembling — and then the hissing begins. From…
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7 July: Stillrift – The Liturgy
13 of 27: Stillrift — The Liturgy Poem: Peace Earned from Ruin Let It Become Weather I. The ArrivalNo trumpet. No epiphany.Just the click of a lock after the last word leaves—a silence so thick it tastes like blindness,as dust settles into somethinglike horizon.The wound scabs.Stillrift arrives when the itch fadesinto the patience of scars.…
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5 July: Morning on the Lake
Morning on the Lake (memories from a child’s diary) The boat’s nose sniffs at sunrise—wet-bright and sweet, chasingits tail across a rising hush, and the oars dip and grin,spilling silver over minnowsthat taste of pepper and paper. I am queen of this nowhere kingdom.I am Amphitrite of dragonfly fleets.My hair is plaited in ropes of…
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3 July: Marked
Marked (a reshuffled deck of marked cards) I. The Misfit GospelThey come unwashed. Overplayed.Rust in their lungs. Whiskey in their grief.The hymn starts low —a breath caught on glass —and still they kneel.Gamblers. Bruised palms openlike confession slips. II. Communion for SinnersThe bread’s dry.The wine tastes like railroad tracks.Take the body. Bite down.Blame’s baked in.Estranged…
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2 July: Fireworks for 100WW
Fireworks Hotdogs. Mustard. Mum’s potato salad — she always brought it to family dos. It was thick with mayo, heavy on onion, chopped eggs, cubed potatoes, and crushed saltine crackers. “Saltines are a southern thing,” she explained to my aunt, who, in turn, huffed that Mum wasn’t southern; she was more northern than Alaska. While…
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1 July: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Creates a YouTube Account(a masterclass in digital anonymity) The cat, draped across the old woman’s keyboard in repose,begins typing.Slowly.Deliberately.With one claw. First: the username.sardinesupremacist — taken. Probably by the crow.knittingwithclaws — too obvious.notacattrustme — suspiciously defensive.fibreartistformerlyknownascat — perfect. The drama, the mystery, the disdain. Next: the password.ilovefish123! — hacked in two seconds. Amateur…
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30 June: Frostwrit – The Liturgy
12 of 27 – Frostwrit – The Poem – Affection Behind a Locked JawA liturgy in six verses I.The Invocation of Knitted BrowsA grandmother’s voice stitches the air—a grey thread pulled tight between fear and fury.The hen’s feathers are not snow.They are the first frost,and the girl is learning to walk on ice. II.The Hiss…
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29.06: Wings & Elderflower
WARNING; MANY WILL FIND THIS VIDEO A HARD ONE TO WATCH. THE MUSIC IS BEAUTIFUL — TRUTH IS OFTEN NOT. Broken Wings and Elderflower The oaks unstitch the night,sunlight dripping through, honey-thick,and pooling in my footprints.It is liquid gold.And above, the warblers tasteof elderflower,their notes glinting like tossed pennies. I kneel into the coolness of…
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27 June: A Synesthesia Poem
A quiet space between threads, where what is left unspoken is stitched into the fabric of silence. Restless as a Second Skin (a synesthesia poem) The night isn’t black.It’s the textureof unfinished coffee,the sound of a clockchewing its minutes.Your bones humin the key of static,your nerves taste likealuminum foil.And your thoughts—they are the moon,its light…
It's Still Life 