I have decided that henceforth, all my titles will be somewhat strange, more out of coincidence than effort. Hence this title.

Some writers have empty wine bottles scattered on their battered desks. Some have absinthe bottles. Some have vodka or cognac or Coca Cola bottles. But me, I have water and blood orange soda bottles. Empty bottles are oddly inspiring, which may be why so many writers don't bother to get rid of them. I see them as vessels of unfound poems, untold stories, and really, really irritating when they fall of the desk. I think I have now rambled enough about empty bottles.

Eyes are rather entrancing. They find you when you least expect it, staring out of the Peet's guy's face, unmoving and strangely profound. They swim in the bland perfection of human faces, unnerving and lovely. I don't know why I wrote that, but I'm sure there's a reason.

Two Completely Pointless Fairy-tales:

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and she lived in a magical kingdom. One day the kingdom was invaded by evil republicans. The princess and her lesbian rock star girlfriend decided to commit suicide and lived happily ever after in the underworld.
Moral: make sure your girlfriend is a rock star.

***

Once upon a time, there was a mystical fairy. The mystical fairy decided to become a porn star because it was bored with its paltry and meaningless existence. It contracted HIV from a fellow actor and died a horrible death because its royalty checks were sent to Peter Berlin by mistake.
Moral: Kill Peter Berlin before you become a mystical fairy porn star.

I love the Danse Macabre. And I mean the music, not the actual thing. It's so haunting and beautiful, like eyes. See, I told you there was a reason! Does anybody know who originally wrote it? I can't remember, and it's been bugging me for a while now.

With that last disjointed-but-title-related thought and plethora of hyphens, I shall conclude my ramble.

Peace be with you, and avoid the dancing bears, they bite,
Inkblot