Why are you wearing a box on your head?

Okay, okay. First of all, the ocean is hundreds of miles away; you were told to paint a riverscape. And, at that, it is called a ‘seascape’, not a ‘see escape’. How do you expect to paint with a freaking cardboard cube covering your noggin?

Well, that would most likely end up as a pretty abstract work, which is fine. But, it sort of pulls you too far away from the original mission. A touchstone of the visual arts is work both produced and appreciated by the eye.

Oh, and, good grief! Did you come out here baring your naked feet? There are planks with fasteners bearing cankerfret and they are littered all over these fields; a wagon trail used to pass through here and they are still finding evidence.

Ah, do not fret. You are not a failure as of yet.

In fact, you may be a Parnassian muse—who opts for utterly unique views.

While a box might close your sight, your empathy for foam peanuts remains alright.

And, that bot down the lane seems in need of co. Perhaps it will find itself fond of your show.

Further, it has been said that only the hip are square. Plus, you are now a present to be opened daily—a blessing quite uniquely rare!

So, forget the painting and the missing socks because you are just as lovely as a deer drinking from a bubbly brook. And, no, no, no: leave on the box. For that which we must imagine oft turns to being of a most splendid scene at which we could ever look. ; )


Oh, caffeinated bev, please help me remmy. Did I park in another lot or has my auto met with twoc?

Oh, frothy drink, I could adulate all day the manner in which your bubbly soft top is allaying my angst.

Oh, toasty cup, if I move you alfresco, might you show me whether or not my car and I are ‘hot’, ‘cold’, or ‘warm’?

Oh, spicy brew, I hope that next hour’s search might serve as condignity for an uplifting refill—or two—until I am reunited with vroom and, then, back to you. ; )


Oh, no. He looks like he wants to come over here.

Let us see. Up-pick the book and pretend to be engrossed. Hold the bev permanently to the lips. Now, I am uninterruptible.

Wait. Why is he bobbing his head to this tune’s agogic points? Ewww. Is that? Gad, I hope not. It is! He is wearing one of those brummagem ascots I saw peddled with the off-knocked Rolexes at the corner.

My steamy drink is now a room-temp sludge still impressed to my face and I cannot turn these pages with one finger, but I must hold pose; the consequences of letting my guard down are too unbearable for thought.

I would be more open to a flirtatious exchange with a man clad in chlamys. I mean, in ‘Bill And Ted’s Excellent Adventure’, Socrates and Billy were about to pair up with those impressed mall gals—until Freud footed his mouth.

Oh, desperately delusional dude, think of me as a clocker and this comfy chair as my nest. Do not disturb, else I will peck away your confidence with my hard stare and fiery words of warning. I am hatching me time here and the only scrambling that is allowed is uninvited visitors away from this inhabitation of an independent introvert’s—and redhead’s—ire. ; )


Lids’ mirrors provide the only true reflection of self.

Specious shadows suggest a bold, bright soul will relay words both rosy and bright.

But, blues can be williwaws rather than clock-calms and golds can be purloined instead of polished.

Rejecting an ever definition of identity, the option chosen is one of balance.

Whether others see the face as cold or warm matters not and whether lips relay supportive or contrary notes matters less.

Temperature of temperament rises and falls and in mind’s connected place a point appears clear: it is okay—no matter the day, bay, ray, say, way, yea, or nay. ; )

J. P. D. T.

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