Taking a break_The Duke Of Plaza-Tourette Syndrome_Dearest Clarice_What's So Funny? A Love Story
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Taking a break
TAKING A BREAKDon’t you just love the instructions to put furniture together? All done iwith very clear pictures. No matter what your mother tongue is or whether you speak another language, it’s clear for everyone. The manufacturers have definitely saved a bundle not having to do translations.However, have you noticed that the person displayed could be considered sexist. Looks like a man, but then again. Again the instruction writers are being very clever. After all, there would be a ton of complaints if they ever dared to suggest that only one gender can assemble items.I recently put a set ...
The Duke Of Plaza-Tourette Syndrome
Since he was ten years old, Justin Weatherly always felt different from everyone else. He couldn’t explain his urges to anyone, convinced he would be ostracised from his school friends, his family, and society in general. Forced to hide his shame away in his bedroom closet, or isolated in the tool shed at the bottom of his garden, he clandestinely hid his affliction from prying eyes and ears, indulging his secret fetish until it ran its course. Afterwards, Justin would feel completely exhausted, almost embarrassed at the recollection of his actions. However, it waswww.onedoor.cc something he had to do, som...
Dearest Clarice
From a letter found in the archives of the Fairfield Traveling Circus, marked “return to sender.”Dearest Clarice,When I ran away to join the circus, I thought I’d be free of the shackles of responsibility. After all, if I’d wanted to continue arbitrating people’s petty domestic conflicts I would have remained on the bench. One assumes when one pulls up stakes to be ringmaster in a traveling show, one leaves all that behind them. However, it seems not to be the case.My central position in the organization, combined with an unfortunate disclosure of my previous employment, has led to several inp...
What's So Funny? A Love Story
Part I My mother stands in my bedroom, a can of canary yellow paint overturned atop her head, its bright, creamy contents cascading down her face and red bouffant hairdo. Seeking the center of the earth, the paint plunges on past her shoulders, chest and arms until it encounters the hardwood floor, rebounding in a mighty splash. Obedient to the laws of physics, it disperses outward in waves that appear chaotic but are really not. The paint finally subsides into rivulets at her feet and forms a sort of coastline, whose configuration, if you appreciate fractals, might even map to that of some c...