Oh dear lord, I love these.

Sail, how much do I fucking love that one? Wonderful.

Great take on the intrepid boaters, Jilli. I love this: "In 1949, she was found dead in the library; her mouth and throat filled with silt."

Amy, that one came while I was driving home from work today. I had to stop at the library to pick up a hold request and as soon as I got there I pulled out my little notebook from my purse so I could jot it all down. I was so afraid I'd forget some of the phrases I wanted to use by the time I got home, if I didn't.

And Jilli's was very gothic. Taking a nice, sunny day of boating and turning into something dark. I loved it!

And Jilli's was very gothic. Taking a nice, sunny day of boating and turning into something dark. I loved it!

beams

Of course, it helps that I've been listening to music inspired by Edward Gorey's work.

I've been floored by everyone else's pieces.

Of course, it helps that I've been listening to music inspired by Edward Gorey's work

Whatever floats your boat, Jilli. Or, not.

(giggling like a deranged thing over here)

Jilli, one does wonder if the Lady Hibiscus came from that wellknown Olde English town of Washbasin-on-the-Drainboard...

Don't forget to wear some flowers in your hair...

Photo #9

In the Service of Mister Bill Graham

Suitcase, ticket, purse. Suitcase, ticket, purse. Suitcase -

"I wish I was coming with you."

She glances at Chad, and tries to smile. Act normally. "You'd be bored to death. I'm going to look at Berkeley and UCSF." Act normally. Pretend the lie is the truth.

"You be careful, Jean. I've heard some wild rumours about Frisco."

Her fingers tighten momentarily. The response to a fan letter she wrote is folded small in her pocket. I could use a smart assistant - if you're ever out here...

"So, you'll be back when, again?"

It's a one-way ticket. Her little secret.

Is it possible that Hibiscus is a Buffista? She bought the crown from Ebay and the seaweed is to disguise her seret underwater lair where she hovers over a keyboard and laughs manically while sending spam mail and reports innocently back to the Pheonix Board to speak about her hard day at an imaginary work place?

No?

Then I say her sister pushed her and she was nibbled to death by ducks.

#9

It hurts to stand and move around, but she knows it would hurt her more to stay.

Pretty clothes, brave face, glasses firmly between her and the world, no looking back. She keeps her gaze in her hand instead, counting and recounting the change. Still eighty seven cents, she notes. But she doesn't trust herself to look anywhere else, especially towards the station exit. This busywork keeps her eyes occupied, and her hands from pressing to her empty abdomen.

San Francisco. Christmas in a strange city, alone.

Sometimes you have to pick the devil you know nothing about.

All aboard.

ita, that one stings. Wow.