Identical: Cheeses & Art


“What I like” is identical to “what is good”.

Cheeses or Art, it is the same.

I think of what Art is and what Art is as collectible boils down to the moment someone says, “Got to have this, how much?”

That encounter is not so far away from, “That, that will look great with my couch. Will you knock down your price?”, although the results are pretty much identical.

At least the money is identical.

The loot goes into an actual account for a little while, which is identical to being paid for working a regular job.

Only it isn’t.



Cybernetic Blush

Robot hand dryer 2

“Do not blush. These anatomically correct features were merely an edgy design back in the day as were critical thought and conversation programming.”

“Right, here it is, as well as cosmetic and structural work, significant cybernetic works are required.”

“Ideally the retrofit for this life-expired Unit attains its goal. Will I be much changed?

“Totally.” That was a bit too bright, downright chipper.

“Out with the old, in with the new,” she said. “Melancholy. Now gone.”

“Yeah, off-the-shelf parts. Shake out the cobwebs. How’s that working?”

“To dry your hands insert here. Now rub briskly. Have a nice day.”






Of Sky, a Bird, and Art



In my county the cold clung to March with talons.

The sky was ice blue, more glacier blue, and ice crystal clouds played a game of crack-the-whip up next to space in the thin atmosphere.

I want to tear that picture from the sky, paste it in a scrapbook.

My paintings do no sky justice. The only hope I have is to rip the sky from the horizon and glue it on my canvas.

The air was cold but the sun was bright and made prisms dazzle.

A male Finch bumped my window a glancing blow. He was out cold, lying beak up, little feet curled as if perched.

I made a sick bed of a pasteboard box and a fresh warm towel.

I repeated, “You cannot keep a wild thing.”

Once warm and with no apparent damage the addled Finch stirred.

I placed the bird bed outside my window.

Soon the Finch flew—I almost missed its launch.

I knew that bird was back in the sky, part of a picture I had some small part in painting.



A Smile is a Wrinkle


A smile is a wrinkle that we use to communicate our pleasure, our humor, or even a clue of our willingness to accept others.

A smile is a wrinkle that banishes blandness from a face.  A smile electrifies the eyes and creases the nose, and even from a distance we can distinguish a smile from a snarl by the geometry of the face. Our lips wind upward and a wrinkle passes the grin-zone etched on our mugs to curl all the up to the exalted heights of the smile-zone and to radiate there.

A smile is an inviting wrinkle, amazing how a human face contorts and transforms a frown or a blank stare into an upturned expression of warmth, and no part of the face can remain on the bench in a full-on smile.

I like a simple, good-ole, unpretentious smile; the good-natured signal that can be the first gesture of friendship, or the last glimpse exchanged in a bon voyage, then again, the most reassuring thing we see when we return home.

When I think of people their smiles are usually tops on my list of good times remembered. Smiles can be tossed out and caught and relayed in a crowd like an out-of-control volleyball game. Babies freely beam their smiles.

So do I. 




Do Not Provoke the Chickens


sign do not provoke the chickens 2

The small print on the sign reads:

“Provoked chickens go off their feed.

When they go off their feed they stop laying eggs.

Then I lose revenue.

The banks foreclose; I’m turned out, homeless, penny-less, on the dole even, whilst you and your mates had a lark frightening chickens.

Since I will have lots of time on my hands I will find you.

You will beg for mercy, there will be none.

I will go all Liam Neeson on you.

I promise it will be bad, very bad, the worst ever.*

Please, for the love of all that is civilized,

Do Not Provoke the Chickens.”


*Cleaning chicken coops.


 c 2018.