bottom wibbles
a rising mist
The Goodly Mist
A Workingblog for Rob Sherman
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Sketch (Swansea, November 2019)

  • There’s an offer at the cafe, but it pointedly excludes the almond croissant.
  • There’s a glint on the information booth, because they think that the public can be trusted with glass.
  • There’s the sun, toothlessly gearing itself up.
  • There’s a gull unspeakably dead somewhere.
  • There’s the talk of 8.13pm on Saturday.
  • There’s the fox falling on a flawless Scotch egg like a diamond.
  • There’s all the clocks blinking 13:00 since they last lost power.
  • There’s something temporary going into the new unit.
  • There’s nobody’s steam in the lightening lanes.
  • There’s traffic.
  • There’s old spolit coffee hissing up again under the pot.
  • There’s phlegm in every nose like a retort.
  • There’s the sea.
  • There’s the slinging of beer into cellars with the same muscles that can load a cannon.
  • There’s continuity.
  • There’s genes.
  • There’s horseboxes teetering in scrub.
  • There’s words on the road.
  • There’s someone behind me.
  • There’s everyone breathing.
  • There’s purple dye in the fountain, to celebrate the cleanliness of the waters.

Pink Trombone

From Neil Thapen, the slightly unheimlich tchotchke I never knew I wanted: an interactive simulation of the biology of the human voice. As one Redditor sadly pointed out on r/linguistics, teeth don’t feature, but we can’t have everything in life.

I have spent at least an hour trying to get my own, trilling instance of this to say ‘tchotcke’, but so far I only seem to be able to manage ecstatic sighs, worrying growls and the overwhelming urge to give my own nose a good blow.