Tag: a.i.Art
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23 July: dVerse Prosery
Equinox She was a daughter of light, yes — but even as a child, she watched the shadows move first. They gathered beneath her bed like cats. Flicked the candles when no wind stirred. Knew her name before she did. She tried to stay loyal to the sun. Woke early. A sunrise child. Let its…
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21 July: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Schrödinger’s Cat — The Collapse (part 3) The old woman wakes to find the box again — open, empty, and whispering like a kettle just before the scream. Inside, a note — written in her own precise hand, but the ink smells of ozone and forgotten rain: “Observation completes the curse…
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20 July: MicroDosing 70µg
Soil’s Song ( a 70µg microdose of 70 words) I know soil. Its memory hums beneath my feet, my hands deep in its dark gospel — decay turned bloom. A cradle for seed, for bone, and eternity’s silence — where roots whisper, gossiping like neighbours over the fence. I know the hush of unborn gardens,…
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19 July: The Old Woman With No Cat (tweaked)
From the Old Woman’s Journal: The Cat Gets Dramatic. Again. 10:32 AM — Found the not-my-cat in the coal bin again this morning, covered in soot and undeserved gravitas — “researching ancestral hardship” and “honouring the noble struggles of the Welsh proletariat,” it claims. Impressive rhetoric for something that still chases string and shadows. I…
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18 July: Microdosing Fiction
Unsolved “I’m home,” she calls to her husband upstairs, “I’ll just put the groceries away.” Milk in the door, grapes in the drawer, eggs top shelf…. Next morning, the warm scent of coffee’s brewing, sunlight slicing through the kitchen blinds. She puts a frying pan on the stove to warm, opens the fridge door, and…
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17 July: Sonnet to a River
Songs the River Sings (A Sonnet to River Arun) The boat was small, the river calm—no storm to blame, no wrathful psalm. Just wood grown tired of being wood,just water doing what water should. Eleven men (their hands darkwith earth-turned songs), eight women(keepers of loom and flaxen thread),now seamstresses of this riverbed. May mountains spill…
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15 July: Driftspire – The Liturgy
14 of 27 Driftspire – The Poem – The joy of being completely unknown 14 of 27 – The Liturgy of Driftspire I. The UnbuttoningNo name.No story.Just the hushof fog dissolving the edges of memory. Here, you shrug off the coat of who you wereand let it pool at your feet—a puddle of forgotten pronouns.Step…
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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.…
It's Still Life 