Today I’m resisting. Right now I’m resisting the urge to write about not writing. Strange and wonderful aren’t I? Later I’ll resist some other pointless distractions.
Additionally I’ll twist my 1-minute drill by firing up my collection of motivation notes collected from across the Internet and spin off a few lines from each.
- We always called it the Ice City, but the alien metal structure buried in the glacier was no more than a power plant or industrial lab. Now that it came to the end of it’s epochal journey to the sea I don’t know what we should call it. Maybe just ruins or wreck.
- At night, colored lights of shades and intensities we could never produce decried the Monastic Island’s superiority. During the day—many days not all of them—the smells of cooked meat spiced and smoked with woods we would never know drifted across the narrow river separating us from them.
- The the Victorian lace of her tattoo-like trimmed felt caught the sun’s light around the edges of her nude body, but darkened to a deeper red in the flat. The way her brick-red feltish fur covered her body like a well upholstered divan it was difficult to think of her as truly naked.
- You’d have thought it fake, a trick of some fine porcelain powder or alabaster mask, if you did not already know her absolute white skin were real. Vabastaline’s thoughtless stare at first ground you like meal under a millstone, but quickly eroded to more of a troublesome nuisance than a soul rending thing it began as.
- The red circles and pale orange bursts scratched out by hand contrast with the ledger’s machine printed rule. A strange place to find such well made conjuring. A strange conjuring to be found.
- With happy abandon or a level of worldly obviousness unattainable by most the crayon-yellow balloon drifted up past the shoulder of the iron robot soldier.
OK. I feel better now. Sorry about lying about the new weekly plan and all my motivational deadline plans. Ha.
Day 415