And from Sir, a wee holiday message:
“A happy holiday and she’s dressing me up again…
“Now she is forcing me to pose as some sort of sick Clouseau Doolittle for infamous VIDEOS of me being barraged, assaulted, beaten, bitten and viciously pecked at by a sea of rabid, wild creatures!
“‘What ART!’ the expert torturer chimes with the dead glaze of that stupid camera poking in my face.
“I certainly hope these beastly things NEVER EVER find their way onto the Internet…”
Jubilant holidays, a most happy Christmas, and a glorious New Year to all.
A lapse in the torrent, and he is a blur before me, blank in the vacant street. I recede deeper into the sliding grey shadows that bleed down from the eaves.
Bullets of mercury rain ricochet upon the fissured sidewalk.
Stooped beneath that drooping, dripping checked fedora, he is hazy-still.
Looming before me like a condor.
His unseen eyes gawp into me from the drear, and there is a flitting moment of strange Recognition- as the sun struggles to dissolve the steel-mesh above.
Then comes the drowning deluge, and he glides on, scrambling after the Darkness, leaving splinters of misty rainbow in his tracks.