Valentine’s Day Scrapbook

What did you suckers do on Valentine’s day?

Did you make a valentine’s day scrapbook? Well you should have, and it should have gone something like this:

Read passionate love notes.
Read passionate love notes.
Be relentlessly pursued by your hot date.
Be relentlessly pursued by your hot date.
Chronicle said dates uncontrollable excitement at the chance to go out with you.
Chronicle said date’s uncontollable excitement at the chance to go out with you.
Go for long walks on the harbour with your long suffering roomate.
Long walks on the harbor with your similarly single long-suffering roommate hot person of interest (cameo by ghost knee).
Send a picture of flowers you found in the mall to your lover friend.
Buy, pick, borrow, or steal send a picture of flowers you found in the mall gardens to your friend workmate studybuddy lover.
Kiss hold hands stare awkwardly at the romantic harbour lights.
Yawn Kissing and stare awkwardly hold hands while you look at the romantic harbor lights.
Romantically watch rabbits stuff their tiny faces with lush grass metres away from the certain death of a busy road.
Romantically watch romantic rabbits stuff their tiny romantic-furred faces with lush grass metres away from the romantic certain death of a busy road.

There are rabbits there. If you squint. Look, I can’t do all the work. Use your imagination, romantic parasite-infested beasts of fluffy destruction – small enough and cute enough to make you regress to infantile exclamations of joy. Imagine it. Get involved.

Romantically
Romantically race a romantic leaf down a picturesque water feature in the mall in some fantastically classy place.
Romantic shit
Squat precariously in the dark to take hipster photos of a seed, some bird shit, a slug, or other romantic subjects while your long suffering roommate hot date laughs at your bizarre behavior marvels at your artistic genius.

That, dear friends, is how you have a glorious Valentine’s Day.

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Mind Food Monday: Cratylus

Idea of the week.

This post is brought to you by ‘book dipping’. Which unfortunately doesn’t involve wading naked through piles of loose leaf paper.

My perforated-paper-products bring all the boys to the yard.
My perforated-paper-products bring all the boys to the yard and they’re like: ‘This is not as erotic as the tweet/status implied’.

Though I’m sure there is a blog post somewhere that covers that niche if you’re into it. ‘Book dipping’ is like ‘Bible dippingbut less creepy; flip to a random page, scan it and pick a word that stands out. BAM subject acquired.

Cratylic

No, it’s not a disease commonly found in domestic cats. It refers to the idea that a person’s given name reflects aspects of their personality rather than being an arbitrary word (but the theory extends beyond proper names to encompass all language)¹. According to the Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory the word is native to Plato, appearing in his dialogue Cratylus.


¹Cuddon, J,  1999, Cratylic in Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory, Penguin Books, London, England,  p191.

Table-Talk Tuesday: Come alive.

Small Things; owls and flowers become a theme.

Someone hid a cannon in my pencil sharpener.
Owl meeting (my flatmate’s collection).

 

4in illustrated Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. A gift from my late grandfather.

 

 

Photobomb Owl stares you down.

 

Owls; it’s becoming a thing.

Table-Talk Tuesday: Nuns, Pixlr Purn, and Baba Yaga.

It is in these moments that cats dream of world domination.

A Moment with the Nun.

On Sunday I met some nuns and their friend, a woman in a fluffy pink coat.

“You really should have a tip jar, you silly little girl” said the woman in the pink coat.

I smiled, lips thin as a shoelace.

The tiny nun at her side looked at me and rolled her eyes.

Galaxy fabric on the train.
Rhubarb – the exhibitionist vegetable.

Just so we’re Crystal Clear

She’s going for new age but looking more Baba Yaga with every visit.

She wore a chain of bells around her hips. She sounded like a sleigh as she hobbled towards me.

“Remember what I told you about the crystal?” she said.

“I remember.”

She pushes up her insect-eye sunglasses and squints at me expectantly.

“Never touch another person’s crystal.” I said.

“That’s right darling. It’s for your own good. Bad energies.” she said, her eyes half lidded.

“That’s right.” I nodded.

“Can we bring our beers in here?” she said, curling her bony hand around a schooner.

Lonely Trees hold each other and reach their hands to the clouds.
Ew – overcast.