So pretty much every level surface in my room is filled with…stuff. I do occasionally buy these dreadful things, and between that, the empty bottles from my meds and the carefully rinsed and cleaned sour cream tubs, that’s pretty much it so far as viable storage space goes, and it’s kind of an effort to find a place to put something anymore.
So when someone found this in my bedside cabinet, I really didn’t have an answer for them. “There wasn’t any room on the bookshelf” didn’t seem to fit the occasion.
Two talented astrobotanists and a team of highly-trained stunt writers haven’t figured out what this is. The continuum between “pagan idol” and “pencil holder” is just too broad. If it is a pencil holder, the people demand answers. It should be a ceremonial pencil holder, something used to hold the pencil of the hierophant during the Mass of St. Pignolla the Ostentateous, patron of petty bureaucrats and button-makers.
Or maybe it’s a potato. One of those Three-Mile Island Reds I’ve heard so much about. Apparently once you slice them they cook themselves.
File under “Dangerously Miscellaneous.” It’s like H.P. Lovecraft’s paperweight. It’s either a synesthetic representation of the sky over a dead planet where the stars dance to the endless discordant strains of a mad piper, or Tsoggatha’s chewing gum.
There is no angle I can take on this that it doesn’t look faintly obscene. I like that in a piece of high school art. But I’m still not certain about all the tiny holes. Does it need to breathe? Or worse, is something inside it still breathing? *shudder*
This mother’s day, give your mother something she’ll treasure forever. Or if you forgot Mother’s day, give her this. She won’t.
Savers on South Lamar near 290, Austin