skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Missed another Folksy Friday due to being super busy. So instead, I did a search for egg-related goodies on Folksy, and here are my faves.
Theme this week is 'eggs', duh!Okay, from top left:
A gorgeous necklace made from real quails eggs, blown then filled with plaster.
Chocolate egg bath bombs. Lush!
Cute egg necklace.
Chocolate-scented egg candle. Genius idea.
A beautiful handmade porcelain egg, assembled in a deep frame. Really delicate.
I wish men could get away with wearing bonkers hats, because I would SO love to wear this bird's nest one!
Happy Easter/Pasg Hapus everyone.
Buy 'em quick before they go!
Just saw these lovely nests on Ravelry:
Free pattern available here, from After I finish this row...
The Grand Adventures of Nina & Andy - Part III
The usual Thursday night wasabi nuts in 33... you know how it goes, we met Jonny and Julian and some lovely people who like to shoot deer and eat game. Yum. Then on the way to my house (quick stop to change clothes) Nina gets attacked on the road. We were egged! Some dirty chavs in a driveby egging, driving some shit car down Sanquar Street. Cunts.
My house, eating cold chicken, taxi to Canton... brandy and coke, then I made Nina's lunch and played with the cat then back into town for gays and cocktails.I never need to go back to Exit bar, like James says: Exit is deader than corduroy these days.
So that's it, Part III and we all survived. Saw Nina's belly today (where the egg struck), there's a red mark.
Take heed, egg bastards, we'll get you. We always get you in the end.
I’ve been making forever sunburn. Gripping hands let go, slide, weaken and grab again. Hiss of egg. Not molecule by molecule, I’ve got a pair come undone, and I draw them again. Your breath in mine. Membrane against membrane, under spit. Eyelashes graze my cheek, scar, I’ve had a busy afternoon. Somehow soaring, hand invisible to the naked eye. It takes such way a chicken does, but constructing touching skins invading, pink on pink. Soft fingertips, scanning soft pink. Your needing lines in myself, inner wall, then coat that with several layers and again. Whisper, and you of minute tweezers, the ends are so tiny they are whisper, and you breathe. Keep breathing, moving closer but firmly touching. Ragged, take weeks to put together the perfect egg and patterns over hissing skin. And everything is pink. Numb, clean, pink. Long time to create the perfect shell. You first have to build the soft I love my work. What upsets me though, is of delicate harder molecules, brighten their pale colour to a nice blue, or flesh pink. The effort and concentration required is enormous, it can be. I hate my work being misunderstood, especially by those who create. I’ve been ridiculed for it, naturally, accused of spending too much time on pointless projects like this one. I don’t care, I break. The one I’m currently working on will no doubt be smashed back when people can’t understand the egg. They think it is invisible, or a castle made out of a thousand molehills baring angry, red knuckles will surely crush my construction into more than a million smithereens. Smash eggs of their own without even realising. Those eggs are always the prettiest, and the hardest to give up. Perhaps then I will give up egg-making, perhaps I will try something less complicated, like love. Smash into molecules by the first red plastic hammer that walks past it. The first white fist.
