but not forever
Somehow this short by Andreas Hykade from Studio Filmbilder comes close to characterizing what I hope to accomplish with this blog:
or maybe I’m full of beans… Full screen and headphones recommended. Also: lots of cartoon references, some that I recognize and others that I also identify.
A trip to the sea side singing a different tuna
Said the schedule board:
No. 15… (ambiguously)… Delayed.
No “E.T.A.”, only “Delayed”.
Side-tracked on a digression
Or hidden in an air pocket
Or towed to Toledo?
An interrupted transmission,
An uncertain interval
Before arrival.
— Yip
The turbulent wind of an open convertible at highway speed rattled the envelope in his hand. It shook and bobbed like a leaf on a tree. From the driver’s seat, Maeve looked across the car. Soft spoken, her voice was hard to hear against the wind: “It’s from your father. Aren’t you going to open it?”
Was he? Dad could have called. He could have emailed. He could have knocked on their door. And he could have done that months ago. But now, a letter? What could that mean? With Dad, the medium was often the message; did he really want to know? Instead of answering, Dan sighed. After a moment he awkwardly torn the end off the envelope and extracted a sheet. It said:
Danny:
Four months have gone by since we last spoke. I am doing something that I hadn’t planned to do, and that is, to make one more try if you will do the same thing also. I shall offer you what you wanted for a starter, so here goes. I apologize. Now, I expect you to come through with your part, namely, a two way, one on one, thoughtful, equal, sensitive and not insulting start at communication with an end goal of bridging over the gap which separates us. Agreed? Otherwise, J’ai fini, this time for real.
Dad
“What did he say, Dan?” Maeve asked.
Dan held the letter between two fingers while it gyrated in the wind. After a moment he let go and it flew away.
“Nothing,” he replied.
— Yip
I’m generally weary of dystopian fiction but… This follows a young woman, new to town, in a future wherein climate warming, commodification, urbanization and the web have taken “bowling alone” to an extreme. It’s possible I could survive there, but I don’t see how Arlo can, alone. And maybe she doesn’t.
I really don’t know what to say. Sometimes meeting cute is the end of the story…?
Exotic, erotic, she’s by your side,
Her shadow dark hair blown wild in love’s sleep.
You stir; she wakes and looks in your soul with
Kaleidoscope eyes that hold the dawn sky.
A smile haunts her lips; you touch her then kiss,
First there then here, tasting sweetness and salt.
You hold her quite close and feel her living!
Her lungs breathing and her heart beating!
Her muscles stretch-contract. And here’s her spine;
There’s her ribs, then up to her breast where love
Swells gently under your hand as you move.
Touch, warm silky smoothness, firm, soft and rough,
Engulfs you in waves of sensual affection,
Engulfs you in waves of sensuous love.
— Yip
