Finally finally finally he does not cannot elide the moon line of flight does not flee the moon but runs into it perpendicular line of flight with moon assemblage so that his face becomes the moon machine
face becomes the moon machine
face becomes the moon
face-becomes
Shoe Monk cannot handled the bluing of the sky. No one likes a smart-ass. He cannot wear a blue tie. He cannot change the colour of his shoe. He is not Colour Wheel Man. He is Shoe Monk. (One day, if he plays his cards right with the patriarch of Shoeboxopolis, he may become Shoe Sebastokrator.)
Gilt birds follow him in flocks of silences that recursively tell him of the moon, always distant, always silent, birdlike in its fits of loss. He turns to home.
The raccoons have a team that visits the moon often. Comes in primary colours and a colour you cannot access. (Mantis shrimp have the best eyesight and can access all colours, besides the malak-colour, murple.)
The shoe man can no longer face the moon. It is a fly in his hair.
The doodles, illustrations, & illuminations of writer Wythe Marschall—culled from countless brown Muji notebooks, cruelly manipulated in Photoshop, & hyperdigitally formatted for YOUR viewing pleasure.
My website:
chronolect.com
My florilegium, or collection of ill quotations:
florillegium
My Tumblelog of other people's visualizations of terror, horror, and gnostic madness:
Third Fear
