(no subject)
There once was a girl in a painting that hung in an abandoned house that was once painted by a bearded man. The bearded man didn't like the girl very much, so he painted her with no clothes. She shivered.
One day the man with the beard was very upset with the girl and he threw her - canvas and all- into the white river that runs past his house. She rushed down torrents and torrents. Bruised, she came to a shore.
On this shore she was dried by the sun, and the lapping of the tide engraved little patterns in the soil that accommodated her. 'If only we could escape these bounds our maker has given us,' she thought. She flexed her toes and flung her neck and twisted her spine until her breath was gone. And again and again, in out in out.
A man without a beard found her on this shore and he liked her frame and her form very much. He picked her up and took her to his home. He hung her above his modest mantle.
But, when he came close to her, he would say things like "Your complexity is odd, your pores are weird."
One day the man with the beard was very upset with the girl and he threw her - canvas and all- into the white river that runs past his house. She rushed down torrents and torrents. Bruised, she came to a shore.
On this shore she was dried by the sun, and the lapping of the tide engraved little patterns in the soil that accommodated her. 'If only we could escape these bounds our maker has given us,' she thought. She flexed her toes and flung her neck and twisted her spine until her breath was gone. And again and again, in out in out.
A man without a beard found her on this shore and he liked her frame and her form very much. He picked her up and took her to his home. He hung her above his modest mantle.
But, when he came close to her, he would say things like "Your complexity is odd, your pores are weird."