Today I marched through screens and tags and duplications. I've been on that march for weeks now, but all I get is .tiff files stuck to the bottom of my heels for my trouble.
I'm still waiting for the new lamp that's supposed to liven up my already live office. Smaller, yes, but it's got damn good feng shui (although it's missing the goldfish bowl). No matter, fish swim in my waters on a regular basis, the natural light from the skyscrapers outside my window encouraging them to no end.
The eternal army is unhappy with their new quarters. They keep sending me irritated dispatches. "No one can see us from this angle," they whine, "No one oohs and aahhs anymore."
To which I respond, "I guess my oohhing and aahhing ain't enough for you guys, eh?" They're just jealous of the native americans, coal miners and beekeepers across the way. And they still haven't figure out which aerial shot is London. I made it easy for them, made sure the London Eye was almost dead center in the picture, but they're still guessing.
Mother octopus guards her brood. Her eyes are closed, must conserve energy. An octopus has that Zen monk air until they surprise the crowd by unscrewing the jar lid and pulling out the prize fish of the day. Spectators gape in shock. They learned something new today.
Head and neck. Nose made of cartilage. The person turns this way and that, but is tired of the exposure. They want a rest, keep asking me to turn to the part about the structure of the sun or how a microprocessor works. Energy lurks within these realms.