Linguistic cartwheels in the stylings of a rant, these are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
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I am a 20 year old female writer residing in Central New Jersey. My influences include the great Dave Barry, Neil Gaiman, George Carlin, and the two greatest editors in the world, Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling. My webpage can be found at www.homestead.com/foxfyresden and I can be reached at Foxfyre33@aol.com. Happy reading!
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Wednesday, June 11, 2003
You know what I hate? Models, in circulars.
They're professionals, right? So why are they never looking at the camera? They're always glancing off to the left or right, talking animatedly to some unseen cameraperson. It's just not a good way to do business. They can't sit still...they're always running off somewhere down the beach or monkeying around with the other models playing grab-ass. Sit still! Can't you see someone's trying to take your picture?
And another thing. Preparation. Don't you think they'd learn to put on earrings, adjust their shoes, check their watches, straighten their ties, twiddle with their cufflinks, or button their shirts BEFORE they go to the shoot? All I ever see is an endless parade of models that not only can't sit still, but are doing just about everything but dabbing clear nailpolish on hoisery while on the job.
Hell, I'm unprepared and fidgety as hell. Why aren't *I* a model?
~Fox
9:57 PM
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Sestina: Philosophical Reflections on a Funeral
Demanding, commanding, church-bells toll
In sunday best the masses travel
Driving, flying, through the night
All across the darkness, here they stole
In sunday best, their wealth a-dazzle
Earthly reflections of ethereal light
To the church, now they travel
At the ending of the night
Where some rich old aunt adjusts her stole
Atop a nearby pond a sunbeam-dazzle
Goes full unnoticed, as unowned light
Prosperity can take its toll
Pause. Within a soul, sometimes night
A drifting heart has leapt and stole -
With superficial whispers, it will dazzle
ZThe wand'ring mind away from light
And takes soft innocence for a toll -
And, vice into void there does travel
Church-quiet, death here stole
A shelf, shell upon an altar made to dazzle
Colored through with stained glass light
Now a call for tithings, spiritual toll
Perversion of Charon's fare, to travel
Across the rivers of the night
And now the preacher's words will dazzle-
To this flock, contrasting brimstone and light
His voice rings false, the church bells toll-
O'er his sermon on heavanward travel
Some weak prayer against the strength of night
(A final blow to ancient faiths they stole.)
The day softly fades; away the light -
The sun takes moon in parting toll
Across the sky, the witches travel
Milk across the ink of night
They gather galaxies for a stole
On fair throats, celestial stars dazzle
Blessed are those who fear no bell-toll
Who fly alive, need no death to travel
Who gather to dance in moonlit night.
~Original Work by the persona of Fox Mackenzie, protected under intellectual property laws.
8:56 PM
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