Hats. I hate wearing hats. They leave that weird mark in your hair and make your forehead sweaty. Ugh, and the way winter hats make your ears itch; unbearable! Baseball hats are okay - looking on guys, but I'm more into helmets. You won't get me to wear either, still, they call it hat hair, and helmet head for a reason. Who ever invented the hat anyway? I get the concept of keeping your head warm, but hoods do that job just fine, and don't make your hair flat or itch your ears, or make your head funny-shaped. I get...
Hats. They don't tell you all there is to hats. Hats are of course a fashionable item, they shield for our eyes, a blanket for our head. But hats don't allow your to show your self. I say "self" to describe that brilliant light and vibration that extends from every pore. The fluorescent and transcendent light that seem to be so pure in this tainted world. We all have one. But hats don't let them flow. Hats cover your Crown. Hats hide you.
You don't wear hats. That is when I knew. Your shines like a thousand suns of every...
She opened the cupboard on the landing and sighed.
What hat should she wear ? There was a choice of four: a bowler hat, a large straw summer hat, a rather fetching Philip Tracy ensemble or a velvet scrunch hat.
Neither were really suitable for her proposed unicycle antics, but "needs must where the devil drives" she muttered under her breath, and grabbed the velvet scrunch hat in her favourite colour, green. Cramming it on her head, she raced down the six flights of stairs to her front door, grabbed the unicycle from its cupboard and marched out defiantly, daring...
I like collecting lots of hats
And placing them on heads of cats
They aren't too fond of wearing hats
They take them off, those little brats
We stared out the attic window of the 3-story blue colonial. It was New Year's Eve; we all survived the hype of the Millenium, and now one year later we were wrapped in each other's arms watching the snow fall. I came upstairs to change my shirt after Pat spilled his champagne on me. I rifled through my suitcase as you ran upstairs after me, worried that I was upset. You said my name and I looked up with wide eyes, so in love with you. Staring at your ice blue eyes, I wondered how I got here, I mean,...
"This wise guy can't use sign language or nothing?" Sandon, Cal's partner, said in disgust. The mime was placing his palms in the air progressively higher, which communicated nothing of any obvious value.
Cal sighed, looking down at the high-tech surveillance equipment lying on the table. Equipment the police department could never have afforded. "So, what's the deal then? You some kind of spook, or are you just a pervert?"
He gestured to the pile of tapes. "Look, we got you, son. You've recorded that lady do it with her john every night for the past month. We got all...
Cat's pupils narrowed to slits as she glared at the falling snowflakes apprehensively. Snow, her long-time adversary, had returned at last. She'd dared to hope that after their last encounter, the freezing menace had been dealt with for good, but she knew better than rest easy.
She cautiously sniffed the air, preparing herself for battle. Snow threatened all she held dear, all that was precious and good. If Cat was unable to defeat it, it would spread over all the earth.
Her claws slid out of their sheaths; they were sharp, but not as sharp as she would like; the...
"I've got a loaded weapon and I'm not afraid to use it!" she shouted, holding the cat in her arms like an AK-47 as the snow swirled around her on the open playing field.
"You touch my snowman again and I will set the cat on you!"she snarled, walking menacingly towards the group of chav-scum teenagers who were busy kicking over her children's carefully constructed snowmen.
"Oh yeah, as if we're scared!" one of them challenged her. She just smiled, peeled back her black balaclava and revealed her badly scarred face. "He did this last month." she said simply, and...
It approached. Well, as much as the end can be said to approach, as opposed to us approaching it. The great beast, that stalking horse of the apocalypse, with massive paws that looked like human hands, a lion's head with a mane of fire, and the body of a wolf.
The great hunter Talianto was selected from all people to confront this end. Of all people her spear flew the straightest, her blade cut sharpest and cleanest. If there was any hope of defeating such a monstrosity, of doomsday that moved in shadow and swished a spiked tail clearing all...
He set the plate before her. It steamed, smells of carmelized meat and cinnamon wafted up to her nose. "This is my lust."
He still spoke with inflection, they had not dined upon his theatricality, his sense of timing, his desire to surprise. There was an order to these things, and while he still had that order, he would continue. The assembled guests mumbled their appreciation, though Dowager Harriet was still chewing through the last bites of his shame.
When the Boddhisatva-to-be had announced this meal, the good and great had tittered that he had finally lost his mind. Spent...