n'est pas

Hey when are things happening? Wait, I mean- when are things happening- the things I mean that crawl out of grey matter and line themselves into lovely narrative spelled out backwards on my retina?
Seven minutes ago? A few hours before last Sunday? It's whenever I am nowhere near a keyboard that's when! But oh man did I want to expound on my flat tire/lack of cigarettes/dry eyes/weekend two day groundhog day with your family/eight glasses of white zinfandel later/etc.
Instead I will leave it at driving next to lost around stone mountain, a truck hit a sign or maybe a stop sign and then there was a spring-loaded half-flamingo on the ground, earlier (friday) my father wore searsucker and looked like colonel sanders on easter morning and later (sunday) I found what appeared to be melanie griffith's mood ring on a bedside table, stuck on color decidedly vacant. I didn't keep it but I did consider the bedside table, reconaissance anyone? Hows about some ice cream instead?

when white wine goes pink:


afterhours schoolyard flamingo pieces:


dad's ridiculously white shoez:


actual ceremony-related picture, that is my stepsister in the dress:


I am still thinking about some ice cream.