#fourhundredtwenty

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cog.fourhundredtwenty

Grass Of Many Colors

When it comes to luck, or coincidence, I'm a skeptic: I just don't see the Universe working that way. So. In my economy, #chance favors the prepared. In order to make use of this, one must possess a very good memory and have an aptitude for quickly noticing substantive associations. The pic is taken from the movie #MFKZ. It's a police interrogation room... one of their illustrators is NO DOUBT a Peter Gabriel fan. [=

lsl:120919

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cog.fourhundredtwenty

Sneek Peak

Eventually, I was taken to see the inner-most workings of the machine. There wasn't much room to move about freely among all the main gadgetry and some of those old clangers were big as buildings. Quite imposing. When I was finally able to focus, all I could see were cogs; each one stamped with a fully-spelled-out number: seventeen, rather than 17. Much extra work, my guide explained... love that grandeur, though. [=

lsl:042819

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cog.fourhundredtwenty

CSI: Spectacles

I would have started this thing minutes ago but I was looking for my glasses. Because that's a thing for me - too, I mean. Wandering around the apartment like a crime scene investigator looking for my glasses. Well. Okay. That, but wearing shorts and Crocs; not a suit. I'm now right there with billions of folks who start stuff later than wanted because glasses couldn't be found… this is why aliens don't come here. [=

lsl:042720

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cog.fourhundredtwenty

Odd Human Needs

Okay. So. Someone makes these crescent-shaped silicon things that act as barriers between different foods on your plate; like they'd keep your peas out of your fruit cocktail, and such. And I'm, like, of course they do. Wonder how that meeting went. "No, Dave. I'm not joking. We'll kill it with the picky eaters, dude. Fancy custom-made molds and everything!” Brilliant. Because people still eat fruit cocktail... yeah.

lsl:040619

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fourhundredtwenty

Underneath Your Hair

Any creative conventions would naturally be quite personal. ~ Perhaps on one sunny summer day ~ She wore a pur-urple beret. Nah. She wore a plu u-u-um beret. Nope. (picks up knife – spreads jelly on toast) She wore an egg pla-ant beret. Oh, nuh-uh. Hmm. (gazes out window – takes a bite of toast) Now, I need a- (sheepish grin – raises eyebrow) Dr. Fink! Fire up the machines, sir... there's music to be made. #Prince [=

lsl:042218

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fourhundredtwenty

It’s Not A Contest

The Captain wasn't sure, but I was sure. It was my job to be sure. I had a natural knack for direction. And the Captain could tell, just by the creak of the wood, if a sail would stay or tear: she knew how to run that ship. She was the Captain, and I drew the charts. We let philosophers from the previous verse wrangle those matters closer to the heart. We had destiny on the horizon... or some such thing like that. [=

lsl:041818

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fourhundredtwenty

That Rosy Smell

We humans. If there's a way to construct the longest, most arduous convention to get between two points, we'll surely do it. Our success rate here is hardly notable - sometimes negligible. Humans are stubborn, too: this does not help. We live like success is (merely) the absence of failure. So silly. And those humans coming after us will be confounded by the sheer volume of everything we missed... in our own time. [=

lsl:041418

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cog.fourhundredtwenty

Elf About It

So. Ya gotta figure there's a bit of commotion over at the "Lighted Tackle" department; just checking the bulbs and harnesses takes hours. This is the exact time when you don't want any surprises. Well. None that aren't jolly, anyway. And if there is any genuinely surreal scene, it's an ocean of over-stuffed, red velvet bags - all tied with golden ropes - waiting on the sleigh… and it's craycray busy over there. [=

lsl:122317