Zombie Philosophy – Day 208 – Andrew’s Zombie Difficulties

Andrew’s been pondering the question, what is a “vegetarian zombie”? So I’ve explored some Zombie philosophy.

Urge for brains constant. Irresistible. But also urge to help others. So make diet, more earth friendly, like human vegetarians do. Choose what brains. Brains that not contribute much. Never eat scientist brains. Some politicians okay. Best brain from Murdoch man. He spread his brain though everywhere through paper. His brain very renewable.

Fairies are Hairy- Day 207 – Terry Whidborne’s Sunday Sketch

Terry Whidborne (find out more at his site) is a stupidly talented person especially with a pen/pencil/paint or really anything- I imagine he could even carve an amazing sculpture with a pin if he wanted to. Every Sunday he does a sketch and sends it hurtling into the chirping land of tweeters. I got excited and couldn’t wait for today’s so I used last week’s as today’s prompt:

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Fairies are hairy. I always thought they were smooth delicate creatures with impeccable dress sense and perfect figures. I locked myself away in libraries and even lived in the woods for a month in search of these perfect beauties. But when I finally tracked them down, I found a group of tubby hairy artists buzzing about. They’d been drawing themselves into books for decades as gorgeous creatures. My disappointment was quickly replaced with relief. No one is perfect. Everyone is insecure.

Wasteland – Day 206 – Dave McKean

Another one of my favourite artists is Dave McKean:

Her mind was a dumping ground. She was barely visible through the rubbish and weeds that took over her thoughts. Every bad thing someone said and every negative thing she’d read festered there. I tried planting a few compliments but they never lasted long in that wasteland. Eventually, I left. I was terrified the weeds would reach over the pillow and strangle me at night. I remember the way she looked at me before I went. Her eyes were barely visible, roots dangled over her brow and empty packets dripped residue onto her eyelashes. I could see a tiny flower hidden in the mess, but it wasn’t enough. I knew only she could restore the balance and let things grow again. That was the last time I saw her.

The Last Forest – Day 205 – Erin’s Favourite, Max Ernst

Erin sent me her favourite piece “The Last Forest” by Max Ernst:

The moon is a forest. If you slip under a crater, you’ll see it. Giant blue luminous plants thriving and giving off eerie green light. When the Earth was used up, we moved here. It had been under our noses all along. Not everyone survived the trip. Which is just as well, the moon is small and cramped. Some complain about the strange damp smell of the forest or the dark blue mud that cakes our boots. I am just glad there is a forest left in the universe that will take us. 

Bold – Day 204 – Margaret Preston

I asked my doctor if he had any favourite artists. He said Margaret Preston. 

Grace has very distinct boundaries. Don’t hug her, don’t look her directly in the eye and definitely don’t take her to anything loud. Everything must be clear and repetitive. At first it seems restrictive, sad even. But the closer you get to Grace, the more intriguing the boundaries become. She’s different, beautiful and bold.

Frail – Day 203 – Andy Goldsworthy

One of my favourite artists is Andy Goldsworthy:

Everything he does seems precarious, his twig hanging things especially. 

I watched a doco where he made one, and when it got blown over he really kept hist cool (I would be so frustrated). So here is my attempt to capture these hanging sticks in a story. 

His spindly twig frame carried his dandelion beard. He might be scattered by a light breeze at any moment. But he wasn’t frail.  He had the gumption to experiment. Life was a cycle, and he always rebuilt as something new. Frail people stayed broken forever. Next time he’d be butterfly wings and straw. 

Conchita – Day 202 – Julia’s alter ego suggestion

I got a suggestion from Julia while ago. Something I’ve been finding difficult is keeping track of the different submissions and fitting them into my themes. But your suggestion has not been forgotten Julia! Today is the day. The submission was: “Conchita Consuela Poiter – the alter ego of a bank payroll officer Leonie. Leading the life she always wanted to through Conchita. Can you write about Conchita?”

Yes, yes I can. 

Leonie’s eyes glazed

The new payroll software was a maze

All she could think of was tonight

Tonight she was Conchita, glamorous and bright

Tonight she’d be strutting down the aisles

No more boring files

She’d be working the floor

She’d be someone others adore

One day she’d stopped and taken stock

Realising her dream wasn’t something to mock

It was not for sale

Like homebrand ginger ale

People would admire her rack

For the shelves at Coles she did stack

It was a job she loved dearly

But her parents thought it merely

Unrespectable and dreary

So by day Leonie suffered at her respectable screen

And by night Conchita reorganised the beans.