I ran across these bad boys in Port Angeles a few weeks ago, big heavy rollers with rusted out rims. The grit and decay is beautiful against the wet cement, the moss, the fallen leaves.
They reminded me of Thiebaud cakes, a little bit. Or vintage buttons.
I really like the rims, the way the design varies, how they have rusted and crumbled and deteriorated in different ways. A recently published study of twins (scroll down) and aging had an interesting photo accompaniment, showing how sun exposure and smoking, among other things, made people age differently.
Now I'm wishing I hadn't spent all those summer afternoons in my teens basting my bare arms and legs with baby oil.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...