Ys

Seer of ghosts & weaver of stories

(You are very much not forgotten)

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It's all fun and games until somebody gets bled on by a pheasant.
Ys
ajodasso
So, reading poetry at the Last Tuesday Society's Valentine's Day event last night? Fun, and really, really bizarre! You know you're in for an evening of intrigue when the décor includes about fifty dead pheasants hanging from the walls and ceilings of the various function rooms. Real dead pheasants. I am not making this up. One managed to make its presence known quite dramatically when a droplet of blood slipped from its beak and went splat on my arm as I sat making a voodoo doll. Oh, yes: there was a table with clay and beads and string and pearl-headed pins, where one could make a voodoo doll of one's ex (or anyone else, I suppose). But, I swear to you, the splat couldn't have been more cinematic!

The reading, which occurred before the aforementioned curiosities, was lovely, if lacking a microphone. I had the privelege of sharing the stage with Nii Parkes and Lucy Neville. All twelve of the people in the easily-distracted and/or inebriated crowd who paid attention to us, I salute you! I shall sit here, pine, and hope to be asked back next year.

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I don't know, but Laura took a photo! I'll post it later :)

Wow, sounds deliciously surreal!

That subject line made me laugh out loud. I had a coworker once who used that "it's all fun and games" line all the time, and "bled on by a pheasant" was not the way I was expecting you to end it. *g*

I was not expecting to get bled on by a pheasant, either ;)

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