Glowing red and blue dust spear the wood.
Cold reigns as police forget a blanket.
Howling men by dogs are misunderstood.
A park at night is sound's concrete pocket.
Three tiny quail egg shots are a small meal.
Cheddar battlements encase able bread.
With fermentation cold grapes cannot deal.
Science regrows your hair inside your head.
Round happy grey babies suckle red string.
Orthanc holds dizzy velociraptors.
All dead fish need is a blue song to sing.
Sake and mead for fluid adaptors.
Many forms are taken by potato.
Same ruffly shirt in different bolero.
It's looking like I probably won't have the new Venia's Travels online until late to-morrow, but at least I've got a computer again. And I won't have to re-colour the first four pages of the new chapter because it turns out it wasn't the hard drive that died on me but the motherboard.
All day to-day and yesterday Tim was over here putting together this new computer for me. I'm really lucky I know someone who knows how to do this stuff. I had little time to work on my comic, though, and I still have a lot of software to setup/restore. So, obviously I have a lot to do . . .
I got lunch at a nearby Japanese place two days in a row and got quail eggs both times. Boy, those are good, and I love how the place serves them on little mountains of wasabi with the tops of the shells broken open, so you can drink the yolk like a shot. They look like miniature versions of the eggs from the Alien films, and the round yolk inside can easily be imagined to be a tiny face-hugger.
I think I just got great product idea for Cadbury . . .