Lazy slow grey day. The chill in the air is akin to home’s summer heat. Kind and gentle it is on my skin. I laid out and watched lizards and geckos like roaches scurry so fast my eye can’t track the motion. I am stuck in slow-motion while the little life is rushing in double-fast-forward.
Slow progress, slow bike ride into the bike shop, slow help at the kitchen table, slow life. In a couple more days, I’ll be molasses goo and you can make coconut-macadamia granola from my liquified brains. I’m a gooey sweet treat, roll me in potato starch, and eat me up for dessert.
Two outlines done. Still need to get around to that dog ghost with a red nose, and the pumpkin I’ll say “be kind to me” on. And the watermelon — tropical pumpkin — carved with maybe a grinning face, green lips, bleeding teeth. Authentic horror-movie shit.
And maybe the rain will come and wash all the yokai away?
Not a chance. They only dance in the puddles while we shake droplets refracting streetlights from our hair.
The evening spent playing characters via the web. It’s fun to bullshit and get close to the ones we make up and pretend to love.
Spoiler alert ===
I will be killing Charcoal soon. The outline like fate is already writ, the plan laid in place, the moment of destruction set. Oh how I will miss the muthafucker, too.
In each draft, you will shine brighter and rot quicker and I will only love you more, more, more.
But you destroy all the others, and I love them too.
Ah, the conflicts of life.