Sandman Slim Entertains

He has a meltdown. On the way home from the grocery store (He’s bought $500 worth of groceries), he gets involved in a road rage incident (This is L.A.), but the worst part is realizing that he forgot to get beer.

His friend Janet tells him, “You’ll get the hang of parties again. They’re pretty easy when you stop panicking, which you clearly are.”

Thursday Trios (Even Though It’s Friday)

The host of this challenge is Mama Cormier.

Self had great fun browsing through her archives to come up with these trios. All were taken in her garden except for the arches (obv). Self took that picture somewhere near Prague Castle, May 2019.

Stay safe, dear blog readers. Stay safe.

Poetry Friday: Melanie Almeder

Self likes to quote this poem every now and then. She used to think Almeder was Irish (because she first encountered this poem at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig), but she isn’t. She’s American.

MOCK ORANGE, An Excerpt

Everything on the tongue goes stunned bird.
Long past the hissy-fit thralls of April,
rashes of phlox, purple-thistle snowing a little.
And then, like too much love,
there was altogether too much gardenia
in the huddled yards. The heat in a flick of wind
picked itself up and dragged off,
old dog, into the damp cane fields, bee drone,
sighing, sighing of highway, hawks’ cries.

Teddy

“When I call Teddy a ghoul I don’t mean he’s a creep or anything. He’s a real ghoul — he eats people.” — p. 31

LOLZ!

There’s a surprise on every page of this novel.

Stay safe, dear blog readers. Stay safe.

A Little Early: April 9 BRIGHT SQUARES

The host of this challenge is The Life of B.

Love her A bright evening.

For her 9th picture of BRIGHT SQUARES, self chose (1) a picture of another of her buttons, and (2) an umbrella on Courthouse Square, Redwood City, directly across from the historic Fox Theatre, sadly still closed due to the pandemic.

Stay safe, dear blog readers. Stay safe.

Hello, My Ride

Behind the dumpster is something wrapped in a dirty tarp, with stones holding the edges down. I kick the stones away on one side and toss back the tarp. And get my first look at the Hellion Hog in — how long? Well over a year.

Ballistic Kiss, p. 28

The Hellion Hog doesn’t have a key because no one can ride it but me. I get a grip on the handlebars and kick the bike to life.

— p. 29

The life of B

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