Today’s prompt for some stream of consciousness writing is “back of the fridge.” At first I thought of the space behind the fridge: dark, collecting dust and cobwebs that are impossible to get to. I wasn’t going to have a lot to say about that back of the fridge. But then I thought of the decomposed cucumber turned to liquid in a baggie at the back of the inside of the fridge, and the prompt made more sense. It inspired me to pull out some old an drying condiments to see if they looked like blood. That reminded me of the time I was working on a local movie as an assistant designer. One morning, I was part of a conversation about how to make a dried blood stain out of the condiments we had available at the cafe where we were drinking coffee. Everyone had ideas about how to make the right color, viscosity and texture. There was ketchup, hot sauce, honey and I offered the idea of coffee grounds to darken the color, but also for the crusty texture when blood dries. Amazing what comes up when an independent film crew forgot they needed fake blood for a scene.
Today’s prompt is Blood. Last year I used color filters and camera effects to turn the lake to blood, and create a river of blood. This year inspired by the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, “back of the fridge,” I made inkblots with ketchup and Tabasco (salsa did not work).
So what do you think? Could those inkblots have been painted in blood? I also made a plastic filter inkblot using ketchup. It actually worked. And unlike the other inkblots so far, the shape appeared in the orange light.
Deep in the Wonder-filled Wood
wilderness of strange fears
secretive wood between blur and wise
wander free—but the frightening must appear
suddenly chasing the known from sight
majestic forest wild, ancient and dark,
I roam your giant infamous escape
encounter evidence of legend in silent watch
understand story in every track I make
Today’s creepy image is by Michael Glooh. A young woman, holding an open umbrella inside as if she has dashed in out of the rain, crouches against a wall. She appears unaware that menacing hands reach down out of her umbrella. Here’s an excerpt from “Those Horrible Hands:”