“Tom, where are ya Tom? I just had this thought. You know what shows like House seemed to always get wrong? The family. Whenever they talk to the family, it’s only ever just one or two people. I know it ain’t always like this, but I remember when my grandfather was in the hospital all his kids showed up, and they all brought their families. It made for a whole waiting room just full of our family. Doctor came in and we all crowded round. It was like the doctor was speaking at a sold out auditorium. You never see that in those shows.”
I looked around.
“Tom? Where’d you go?”
The stars are pretty Tom.
Too bad you can’t see.
Beautiful time to sleep.
Hell, probably am asleep.
Would completely explain.
“You know Tom, the coolest Batman suit was always Bruce Wayne. For all the melodrama of the movies and some of the comics, ‘Multi-Billionaire Bruce Wayne today is covered with strange bruises and what appear to be gunshot wounds. Is he involved in some kind of rich people Battle Royale? Is he a Highlander?’ never appeared in any of the tabloids. Batman can do some serious make-up.”
Cold splash and sputter.
Immense, Immense starlight.
And strange enough, my dreams are usually bad.
“Tom, you ever looked at the text of something you’ve written, and just loved the shape of it? The way it divided out the page, the graceful curves, just the look of it. Ain’t it somethin’ to look at all the folks who don’t properly appreciate that these days, that reading has its own play of aesthetics. That line variance, visual appeal is just as much, if not more, of an attention-getter as any subject matter?
The brain loves the combination of it, and how cool, how cool is it to think
we’re painting with pictures that mean
a thousand things.
Pit-pat droplets dribble down the corner of my mouth, chatter against the wood of my writing desk. Thunder taking the cake on that quarter-mile drag.
Not a cloud in the sky. Moonlight.
V - Scroll - V
