C. A. Rowanwax

One of my paintings, acrylic, with a quote from Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I started it in college, with just the background and a little dragon coming from the sunset/clouds. Didn't like it, felt unfinished. Taking with one of my coworkers this year about her love of The Little Prince, and her favorite quote from it gave me inspiration to finish this. For those who don't know the book, the Prince tames a Fox, who says the feilds remind him of the Prince's hair. The Prince also is known for his love of sunsets. And the quote on the bottom is given to the Prince from the Fox. Translation: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” After finishing the painting, I promptly gave it to the coworker as thanks.

my heart creaks no the bed creaking because I am breathing my face is firm as my insides howl finding all the cracks This night finding all the cracks while the wind howls the house stands firm the wind is blowing the trees creak because no the wind creaks This night —— C.A. Rowanwax

You hear it- a single chime of a tiny silver bell followed by a draging chain- heavy. You see nothing but white mist. Maybe the sound is farther away- mist has a way of carrying sound. But there! You see something. It is a part of the mist? A mask- a white mask seperates itself from the mist followed by a form slowly taking shape. Sleek and slim it flows towards you as mist rolls off its now solid form. A creature of four legs. you see, now, the source of the noises. The silver bell tied around its neck... and the chain- cuffed to its front left leg- rusty iron from the looks of it. Ears reminicent of a hooved beast poke ot above the mask in alert position. A long tail swishes the mist further from the creature, making it seem more solid: a creature seperate from the mist. The colors are muted, taking a while for your eyes to adjust enough to notice the strangegeometric shapes on the organic flow of body. You realize they are different colors of fur and seales- patch worked across the body. You open your mouth, but before any sound is uttered, the creature leaps back into the mist with ring and rattle- gone. ---- C.A.Rowanwax

The ebb and flow of the tide slowly erase the etchings of a previous promise between lovers from the sand. What they wrote is only known between them and the waves which wash the words away. The waves carry peices of the message mixed with others gathered from other shores hidden among the greater static created from the constant motion of water to anyone who would listen. ---- C.A.Rowanwax

the wind creaks no the trees creak because the wind is blowing the house stands firm while the wind howls finding all the cracks This night finding all the cracks as my insides howl my face is firm I am breathing the bed creaking because no my heart creaks This night ---- C.A. Rowanwax

Update on my aloe vera plants. The big gal just keeps getting bigger. And bigger. She is even starting to develop a spiral. I'm going to start looking up recipies to use her in. The little guy has lost his red. Not sure if it's because he isn't getting enough light, or getting too much. Will experiment.

Planted three starfruit (carambola) seeds on December 24, 2014. Here are the current results.

a heavy bovista in my gut with its spores sticking to my throat. I swore I would not swallow this again, but distance between us burgeons it. ---- C. A. Rowanwax

“This is it. This is my legacy,” she whispered as she wiped the last bits of grease from the metal contraption in front of her. The machine stood six feet and 2.14 inches tall. Gears and wires ran across almost every visible surface of the machine in strange patterns but for the face of the machine. There it was a smooth mirror of chrome. She grabbed the stool behind her so she could look into the face. The stool was the only piece of furniture in the small, dusty room. Shelves were built into the walls and were covered in tools and gadgets in an organized chaos only she could understand. As she started to climb onto the stool, she stopped, as if worried about what ramifications her creation would have on society. But instead it was because she had forgot to turn off the light. She turned off the light. The room should have been dark, but the blank face of the machine was glowing. She smiled at the sign of life within the machine. Once again she went to go stand on the stool. Once again she paused. She wasn't pausing to think of the events which had led to her building the machine. She wasn't thinking of her best friend's expression as they told her they were getting married so they couldn't talk to her or see her again. She wasn't thinking about how they were the last person in her life to leave her. How she was alone. She had paused to adjust her sock. Socks have a tendency to slip off when they don't have a shoe to hold them in place. She put her hand on the stool. She wasn't thinking about the years of solitude. Surrounded by people who could see her, but did not know her and did not want to know her. She wasn't thinking about being rejected so many times in her efforts to make friends. She wasn't thinking about her messy attempts at social interactions while at work only to return home alone to the same room she was paused in now. She stood on the stool and gently placed her hands on the machine's wires to keep her balance. She wasn't thinking about the last person who saw her before she entered this room today. Was it today? The last person had been the obsolete mailperson handing her a pamphlet to throw away. She wasn't thinking about why she called him obsolete in her head. A click of a button, and the gears started to whirl with intention. What she was thinking? She was thinking how she would finally be encased in armor. She looked into the face of the machine, and the machine looked back at her with her face. And she was the machine. ---- C. A. Rowanwax

Languish, lovely lamb, across my lap Gaze into my eyes To be born again Be warned I am warned Shiny fangs glow In the light with your eyes Your seducing voice lures me to your lap ---- C. A. Rowanwax

The thought of you, love of my life, fills me with joy forever free of strife. The mystery of who you are, your past, your present, all unmar before our future together. I have yet to see your face, or even hear your name, yet there is still room, still space. For the picture of our future has been printed long ago, and a blank place on the page reads: "insert face here, please." ---- C. A. Rowanwax

I am sappy like a maple tree. Sadly, you cannot make maple syrup out of me. ---- C. A. Rowanwax