There was an old and crusty man. A goose of a man, made of gold.
But he wanted more. Wanted all the gold in the world.
For his clothes to be made of the stuff.
He asked the seamstresses and tailors to gather their thread makers and spin all their material into gold. This made the finest fabric, but also the heaviest.
He put on this suit for the ball. Then he sat under the weight. Buckled, more like. He couldn't go anywhere. Couldn't move. Everything too burdensome.
So they brought the ball to him. The night smelled like starlights.
A segment of paradise, all evening.
He saw the world change and grow in his bedroom and outside his window.
Saw the city blow up like confetti. Lots of falling out like snow.
Then he shut his eyes. It was enough for one life.
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Process notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on: