So very far north in Alaska, where the sun sleeps in winter and stays up all night in summer, there lived a small boy
who had a brand new red sled. It seemed the summer would never end and the snow would never fall, and the little boy
waited forever, eyeing that red sled every day. Soon after Halloween, the snow began to fall in great whirling, chunky
flakes, and the boy started out into his birch and fir forest.
*the boy soon came upon a pirate shipwreck in a dark cave, and he lived there for many years and fought many battles,
until it was time to move on, for he was almost there.
Lots of caffeine (or enough) gives me ravens in my chest. Flap, flap, squack. Fake plastic trees calms down its flapping.
Its wings calm a bit, and he tucks his head in. I am a funny person turned inside out. Funny people are dark on the inside.
This isn't angst, it's a front seat at the opera. Wrapped in yards and yards of cottony fake snow. Glitter in the eye. Oh, with the
glitter. I'm too obsessed. Purple. Glitter. In the eye.
Need more mascara. Need to be the Man Ray photo of Anchorage. Walking-talking dame out of a 1929 Berlin nightclub. Smeared lipstick and caked
eyeliner and mascara. Must bob hair. Must buy pet gypsy moth.
Hope, hope, hoping. Here's hopin'. Watch your smoke, Johnny.