UNTITLED 2

An unexpected feeling comes upon me in the wrestling ring. I believe it is the sensation of marigolds–a flower of intoxicating beauty with an unpleasant, pungent aroma. And then, ever as unexpectedly, the aroma of jasmine–tea steeping on the samovar on a wind-swept, wintry night. And then the feeling of your powerful, muscular arm around my neck–you have put me in a sleeper hold!

That wasn’t unexpected. That happens all the time in the ring. I appreciate your gently nudging me back to the ‘here and now.’ And in doing so, I fall into a deep slumber; the marigolds fill my nostrils.

I mean, really fill my nostrils. They are all the way in my nostrils. And my nose is a little bloody. Sometimes I prefer to think only of the good times. This could one of them, I think.

all artwork, including handsome monsters but not crinkly devilish types,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2008