Some clay sculpture at D's apartment. Every time we argue, I imagine D destroying these sculptures. It reminds me of the lyrics to the Alice Donut song "Roaches in the Sink":
Stagger down the hall/open up the door/ripped up photographs scattered 'cross the floor/severed pieces of me/pieces of my faulty personalityNow, if I may be permitted to be self-indulgent (as if I need YOUR permission), here are the individual pieces and a short novel about each one.
This is a driving wand. It's a magickal implement for coping with Tucson traffic. The idea is that there are many times in which one would like to make an obscene gesture to an inconsiderate fellow motorist, but, being aware that everyone in Tucson is armed and itching to use their weapons, refrains from "flipping the bird" out of fear of being killed. Instead, one could hold up a grotesque face and hope the target is merely stunned and confused rather than whipped into a murderous rage.
Praise Jesus that these other pieces don't really have stories behind them. They're just fragments that get produced when I can't think of anything else to make.
