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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUFQH05eip7ImA9WhRRFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672</id><updated>2011-11-27T19:03:31.322-06:00</updated><title>I Don't Believe In True Stories</title><subtitle type="html">A blog dedicated to the slightly brain-damaged 17th Century Flemish artist Fluvio Nortnoodle</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/IDontBelieveInTrueStories" /><feedburner:info uri="idontbelieveintruestories" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMGRHk7fyp7ImA9WhdTEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-3044376069699769386</id><published>2011-07-09T19:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-07-09T19:40:25.707-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-09T19:40:25.707-05:00</app:edited><title>Caterpillar Boy from Flignordle #7</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KWlBx8xUg2Q/Thj00ZE6v5I/AAAAAAAAAfI/z3kW4plltcA/s1600/caterpillarboy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KWlBx8xUg2Q/Thj00ZE6v5I/AAAAAAAAAfI/z3kW4plltcA/s320/caterpillarboy2.jpg" width="303" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On the fifth day of the third month of his last year on the moon, Fluvio Nortnoodle fell ill with the space measles. Venta Elorba rushed to his side. Wise van het Hol feared for the worst. But fortunately, the Caterpillar Boy from Flignordle #7 crawled out of a crater and gave him some vitamin C.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-3044376069699769386?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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dirt and spit on rock&lt;br /&gt;
c. 3072-3089&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When the bronze statue of Venta Elorba broke Fluvio's heart, he went into hiding for 17 years in the deep future, in which time he produced only a single piece of art, &lt;i&gt;Thistle and the Bear&lt;/i&gt;. And while this does not seem like an entirely impressive feat, particularly when one looks at the piece, it is important to note the context in which he did it: isolated in complete darkness without canvas, paint, brushes, or a functioning heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-7807738525098366892?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;b&gt;The Striped Serpent Boy of Mellory Felled By This Rock&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;innards on a rock&lt;br /&gt;
c.1645&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Shortly after hallucinating The Striped Serpent Boy of Mellory slithering about his feet in a manner that Fluvio Nortnoodle interpreted as a "thoughtful sort of malignance", according to his diary he picked up the nearest rock and with a furious judiciousness smashed it down on top of him in a perfunctory life-ending sentence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Fluvio would later admit that the resultant impression on the rock was one of his better works.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-3822018050824626925?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Bm2itABp91IAuqK6Us15D58QKDs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Bm2itABp91IAuqK6Us15D58QKDs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/O6RtNBnAZ7k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/1966677542211838974/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=1966677542211838974" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/1966677542211838974?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/1966677542211838974?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/O6RtNBnAZ7k/flaber-thistle.html" title="" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/11/flaber-thistle.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04GR305cSp7ImA9WxNaFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-776015909847363198</id><published>2008-09-08T10:58:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-29T12:38:46.329-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-29T12:38:46.329-06:00</app:edited><title>Lord q Dines On The Worm of Tomorrow</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SMVQSURabDI/AAAAAAAAAJA/9cWbEqvL2rE/s1600-h/lordQ.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SMVQSURabDI/AAAAAAAAAJA/9cWbEqvL2rE/s400/lordQ.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243685616752421938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord q Dines On The Worm of Tomorrow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;opalescent shell ink on seaweed paper&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1625&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While at the Asylum, Fluvio met many interesting people. One whom Fluvio made the object of many of his drawings was &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://petuniatheantighost.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lord q&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. After having only been at the Asylum for a day and a half, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord q&lt;/span&gt; told Fluvio that he was from the mountain village of Prekarus, in the land of Uttoh where he was a mighty king. He explained that it was a magical land with many great and amazing things, but that he had been kidnapped by the greedy Bizonauts and imprisoned here. Among the great and amazing things in the land of Uttoh was the worm of tomorrow, the worm from which all tomorrows and days after tomorrow spring. The Bizonauts had hoped to bottle the worm and sell it to the highest bidder. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord q&lt;/span&gt; told how he had been entrusted with protecting the worm when the Unpredictable Vanderboot suddenly grew tired of doing so and hid it in a hollow tree and then sent &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord q&lt;/span&gt; a letter explaining where he could find it and a half eaten lump fruit. When Fluvio asked if the Bizonauts had found the worm, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord q&lt;/span&gt; just grinned and rubbed his belly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-776015909847363198?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CNr6rlgL0emq8wRSBnob-kHiTKs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CNr6rlgL0emq8wRSBnob-kHiTKs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/8_r10DssxeM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/776015909847363198/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=776015909847363198" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/776015909847363198?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/776015909847363198?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/8_r10DssxeM/lord-q-dines-on-worm-of-tomorrow.html" title="Lord q Dines On The Worm of Tomorrow" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SMVQSURabDI/AAAAAAAAAJA/9cWbEqvL2rE/s72-c/lordQ.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/09/lord-q-dines-on-worm-of-tomorrow.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcMQXwyfip7ImA9WxRTE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-8281727217332021329</id><published>2008-08-31T17:24:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T15:14:40.296-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-01T15:14:40.296-05:00</app:edited><title>The Monster That Murdered Morton McFingley</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SLsaVvv2cgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/wpR6kDwwJNQ/s1600-h/frolp+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SLsaVvv2cgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/wpR6kDwwJNQ/s400/frolp+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240811552272445954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Monster That Murdered Morton McFingley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;childhood memories on canvas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1625&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the age of 12, Fluvio Nortnoodle was already an established artist and had terrorized most of the people around him. So in December of 1625, he was sent to live in the St. Avians Asylum For The Psychologically Troubled. The first drawing he made there - which he finished within 15 minutes of arriving - he called The Monster That Murdered Morton McFingley. It made such an impact on the residents there that the real Morton McFingley never again tried to intimidate anyone. Sadly, Morton passed away when he ran headlong through the giant stained glass window at the end of  the main corridor of the fourth floor when he awoke in the middle of the night to find the same image had been tattooed on his forearm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wise Van Het Hol once said about it, "At 12, my childhood was still wet ink."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Dry ink is just really fast wet ink," Fluvio said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-8281727217332021329?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jw358J-5YoudXYFpWkSI1mwP-CU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jw358J-5YoudXYFpWkSI1mwP-CU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/sJs50LS1Wts" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/8281727217332021329/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=8281727217332021329" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/8281727217332021329?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/8281727217332021329?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/sJs50LS1Wts/monster-that-murdered-morton-mcfingley.html" title="The Monster That Murdered Morton McFingley" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SLsaVvv2cgI/AAAAAAAAAHw/wpR6kDwwJNQ/s72-c/frolp+copy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/08/monster-that-murdered-morton-mcfingley.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcCRHY9cSp7ImA9WxdbFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-5238443564947522052</id><published>2008-08-13T10:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T11:14:25.869-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-08-13T11:14:25.869-05:00</app:edited><title>Searching For Daylight At Noon On A Wednesday</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SKMG2WE_BAI/AAAAAAAAAHM/cB-FqAxNs90/s1600-h/searchingfordaylightI.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SKMG2WE_BAI/AAAAAAAAAHM/cB-FqAxNs90/s400/searchingfordaylightI.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234034722643837954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Searching For Daylight At Noon On A Wednesday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;squid ink and fish eggs on seaweed paper&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1617&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even in his earliest works, Fluvio was prone to wild imaginings. Inspired by the strange and wonderful creatures he would sometimes find washed up on the shore, he sometimes concocted "creatures that could have been or may yet be". In this example, the creature is aided by a "magical light candle" in his quest to find daylight. Fluvio once said about this particular work, "I really hope he finds it".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-5238443564947522052?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/j4YH5qGKdC1OB-WA6IZ4TOLPu-k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/j4YH5qGKdC1OB-WA6IZ4TOLPu-k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/O8CRoN1UnQ4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/5238443564947522052/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=5238443564947522052" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5238443564947522052?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5238443564947522052?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/O8CRoN1UnQ4/searching-for-daylight-at-noon-on.html" title="Searching For Daylight At Noon On A Wednesday" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SKMG2WE_BAI/AAAAAAAAAHM/cB-FqAxNs90/s72-c/searchingfordaylightI.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/08/searching-for-daylight-at-noon-on.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAMSHg4fip7ImA9WxdbEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-2467457433797962605</id><published>2008-08-08T16:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T16:26:29.636-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-08-08T16:26:29.636-05:00</app:edited><title>LuLu Gently Wafting Over Liechtenstein</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJy1hbzLe_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/F0jkl8gNdNE/s1600-h/luluoverlichtensteinB.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJy1hbzLe_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/F0jkl8gNdNE/s400/luluoverlichtensteinB.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232256453100403698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;LuLu Gently Wafting Over Liechtenstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;exotic squid ink on seaweed paper&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1619&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fluvio spent much of his time away from painting talking with his imaginary friend Wise van het Hol, but he talked with other imaginary friends as well. The one, aside from Wise, that captured his attention most was LuLu Snark, whom Fluvio claimed was "a girl from the future chatting through her magical abacus". He explained that after chatting with her for the first time his mind was alight with thoughts of things from the future. "Magical abacuses will run the world!" he exclaimed. He would later remark when pressed about this particular painting "For the sake of all, be quiet!!! Can't you see she's hunting honeybees?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-2467457433797962605?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RvnWOifCpr4N97t-OlkfoSa1XEU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RvnWOifCpr4N97t-OlkfoSa1XEU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RvnWOifCpr4N97t-OlkfoSa1XEU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RvnWOifCpr4N97t-OlkfoSa1XEU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/Bu4rouAC13k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/2467457433797962605/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=2467457433797962605" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/2467457433797962605?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/2467457433797962605?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/Bu4rouAC13k/lulu-gently-wafting-over-liechtenstein.html" title="LuLu Gently Wafting Over Liechtenstein" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJy1hbzLe_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/F0jkl8gNdNE/s72-c/luluoverlichtensteinB.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/08/lulu-gently-wafting-over-liechtenstein.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBRHc8eCp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-486902142794375910</id><published>2008-08-04T21:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:35.970-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:35.970-06:00</app:edited><title>The Trunkless Trees</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJfE15P6YiI/AAAAAAAAAGA/YRLREoqefuY/s1600-h/trunklesstrsm.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJfE15P6YiI/AAAAAAAAAGA/YRLREoqefuY/s320/trunklesstrsm.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230865922393793058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In December of 1677, Fluvio Nortnoodle was still on the southern shore wandering aimlessly, desperately trying to find The Octopus Box, the mythical box from which he believed "all the little bastards were crawling out of", when an unprecedented winter tempest came blowing up out of the southern sea. Fluvio retreated inland for three days straight with no sleep or rest, constantly being pummeled by the fierce wind and a barrage of sleet and snow. When the weather finally abated, Fluvio collapsed exhausted in the snow. When he finally woke again, it was late in the afternoon and he stood to the most incredible sight. He was standing in the middle of the last trunkless tree forest. Everywhere around him was a canopy of evergreen foliage, but nowhere did it reach the ground. He would tell his friend and contemporary, Wise van het Hol later, that "trunkless trees are a thing of the present and the past, not the future." When Wise pushed him to explain, he just guffawed and said incredulously "do you really think there is anyone from the future who will be able to figure out how to plant the seeds in the air?" Fluvio would spend the next 22 years perfecting the art of making paper from the trunkless trees. He would eventually paint his masterpiece &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I Don't Believe In True Stories&lt;/span&gt; (1699) using only The One True Color on trunkless tree paper.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In 1907, a five year old by the name of Ansel Adams snapped the picture (above left) of the last trunkless tree. He would later go on to a prolific career in outdoor photography.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-486902142794375910?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pyigT5N5atE6cKbiagU6fyig5fM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pyigT5N5atE6cKbiagU6fyig5fM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/wmYWDNsQUSY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/486902142794375910/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=486902142794375910" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/486902142794375910?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/486902142794375910?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/wmYWDNsQUSY/in-december-of-1677-fluvio-nortnoodle.html" title="The Trunkless Trees" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJfE15P6YiI/AAAAAAAAAGA/YRLREoqefuY/s72-c/trunklesstrsm.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/08/in-december-of-1677-fluvio-nortnoodle.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBR3o9eyp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-8852015924671205546</id><published>2008-08-01T18:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:36.463-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:36.463-06:00</app:edited><title>Whispers of a Star-Filled Cave</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJOfggNosTI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AcykkWASMDc/s1600-h/lostinacaveofnightIV.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJOfggNosTI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AcykkWASMDc/s400/lostinacaveofnightIV.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229698973059035442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Whispers of a Star-Filled Cave&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ink Wash on Seaweed paper&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1619&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the age of 6, Fluvio had begun to believe that his illusory visions were far more important than the ability of his eyes to see in a realistic manner. While at the beach one day, he witnessed Wise van het Hol being pulled away from shore in the jaws of an angry whale. Fluvio would later say, "watching my friend Wise thrash and scream in the surf while dozens of beach goers paid no mind was the singular defining trauma of my childhood." The fact that Wise was wholly imaginary only served to sever whatever remained of Fluvio's attachment to the masses. "It was the sudden realization that they are not entitled to such greatness." When Wise reappeared the next day seemingly no worse for wear, it concreted in Fluvio's mind the superiority of the illusory world over mundane reality. "No one in the real world could have survived the sea-borne viciousness in that angry whale's eye", Fluvio would reminisce. "&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Whispers of a Star-Filled Cave&lt;/span&gt; was one of the images that flowed out of me when I realized all things are possible in a world of my own making".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-8852015924671205546?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FMgGkq_YrFYXKXuZtmI7s9sRvqw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FMgGkq_YrFYXKXuZtmI7s9sRvqw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/xTRjofstNQU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/8852015924671205546/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=8852015924671205546" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/8852015924671205546?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/8852015924671205546?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/xTRjofstNQU/whispers-of-star-filled-cave.html" title="Whispers of a Star-Filled Cave" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJOfggNosTI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AcykkWASMDc/s72-c/lostinacaveofnightIV.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/08/whispers-of-star-filled-cave.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBRn44eyp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-5467882451100618683</id><published>2008-07-30T16:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:37.033-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:37.033-06:00</app:edited><title>Girl With A Vermoose Hotnoose</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJDggRElcGI/AAAAAAAAAE4/mXapy2_R-ac/s1600-h/vermoosehotnooseb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJDggRElcGI/AAAAAAAAAE4/mXapy2_R-ac/s400/vermoosehotnooseb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228926012320215138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Girl With A Vermoose Hotnoose&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;various condiments on dinner napkin&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1619&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fluvio's experimentation with a full array of natural colors was restricted to his time before the asylum. Without any formal training, he often drew or painted with whatever he could find to "actualize his imaginings". In &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Girl With A Vermoose Hotnoose (1619)&lt;/span&gt;, this is very apparent. Composed at dinner at the famous le Franc et Tîge, Fluvio spied a beautiful young girl and was compelled to quickly sketch her using what was available to him - in the "immediacy of life" he would say - in this case he painted her using various condiments on a dinner napkin. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-5467882451100618683?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0dZkyobraujY7GneJapi3Nm4EFQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0dZkyobraujY7GneJapi3Nm4EFQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/dSuEScE8I_E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/5467882451100618683/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=5467882451100618683" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5467882451100618683?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5467882451100618683?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/dSuEScE8I_E/girl-with-vermoose-hotnoose.html" title="Girl With A Vermoose Hotnoose" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SJDggRElcGI/AAAAAAAAAE4/mXapy2_R-ac/s72-c/vermoosehotnooseb.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/girl-with-vermoose-hotnoose.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBRnwzeSp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-3465417062139103227</id><published>2008-07-26T00:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:37.281-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:37.281-06:00</app:edited><title>Careless Seagull Tempting</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIqylqbCyiI/AAAAAAAAAEw/tKgrxQDfcXU/s1600-h/Seagullwise+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIqylqbCyiI/AAAAAAAAAEw/tKgrxQDfcXU/s400/Seagullwise+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227186677629504034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Careless Seagull Tempting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;Watercolor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;by Wise van het Hol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1631&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If any of Fluvio Nortnoodle's contemporaries had any influence on him in any meaningful way, it was Wise van het Hol, the post-rationalist seer who remarked "I choose to paint only in detailed shades of white because I think abstractly in infinite colors." Many art historians have suggested that without his influence, Fluvio might never have begun his quest for The One True Color. Growing up in St. Avian together, Wise was often present as Fluvio experimented with the colors of nature and he regularly painted the seagulls that were careless enough to wander too close to Fluvio. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Careless Seagull Tempting&lt;/span&gt; is a typical example of this and Wise often painted the birds in flight with a matching upside down reflection for its symbolic significance. Fluvio enjoyed his company for the most part, although their relationship was definitely stormy at times, and his growth as an artist benefitted greatly from their interaction and long discussions. The fact that Wise van het Hol was wholly imaginary and that only Fluvio could see or communicate with him only bolstered Fluvio's sense of entitlement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-3465417062139103227?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u1L40kAaR0qvZRG17E_fvIfJ210/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u1L40kAaR0qvZRG17E_fvIfJ210/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/DPadFr75X8I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/3465417062139103227/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=3465417062139103227" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/3465417062139103227?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/3465417062139103227?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/DPadFr75X8I/careless-seagull-tempting-watercolor-c.html" title="Careless Seagull Tempting" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIqylqbCyiI/AAAAAAAAAEw/tKgrxQDfcXU/s72-c/Seagullwise+copy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/careless-seagull-tempting-watercolor-c.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBRno4fSp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-7517858191162945639</id><published>2008-07-22T16:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:37.435-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:37.435-06:00</app:edited><title>The Octopus Box #171</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZVTKUrGVI/AAAAAAAAADE/J4ej_c0wS_4/s1600-h/TheOctoBox171.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZVTKUrGVI/AAAAAAAAADE/J4ej_c0wS_4/s400/TheOctoBox171.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225958205286979922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Octopus Box #171&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;seagull blood, squid ink, and chalk on cliff face&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1631&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When compared to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Little Bastard Esc&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;aping (1675) (see picture below)&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Octopus Box #171 (1631)&lt;/span&gt; (left) makes it easy to see how Fluvio's use of color progressed in an ever-decreasing capacity toward his stated goal of eventually using only The One True Color. It is also easy to see how some elements remained a constant theme, barely changed over a 44 year span. Unfortunately for Fluvio, the Duchess of Florgnord was fond of seagulls and had him committed to the St. Avian Asylum for the Psychologically Troubled where he would while away 21 of his better years.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-7517858191162945639?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2-PgHz0DqPXAUXzf-gYyPMxrtk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/I2-PgHz0DqPXAUXzf-gYyPMxrtk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/eJiQs8hFi_k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/7517858191162945639/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=7517858191162945639" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/7517858191162945639?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/7517858191162945639?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/eJiQs8hFi_k/octopus-box-171.html" title="The Octopus Box #171" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZVTKUrGVI/AAAAAAAAADE/J4ej_c0wS_4/s72-c/TheOctoBox171.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/octopus-box-171.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBRng_fip7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-6151050417280277030</id><published>2008-07-22T15:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:37.646-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:37.646-06:00</app:edited><title>Little Bastard Escaping</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZF3DkvkMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/wvSyzQfySE0/s1600-h/octoinkescape.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZF3DkvkMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/wvSyzQfySE0/s400/octoinkescape.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225941229764579522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Little Bastard Escaping&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;squid ink on pressed and dried seaweed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;c. 1675&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fluvio experimented with different mediums throughout his life, never spending long with one ink or paint or surface on which to mark, but he continually returned again and again to one: squid ink. As a small boy in St. Avian one summer, while diving for tongue stones in an unexplored undersea cavern, he came unexpectedly into close proximity with a large squid which quickly doused him with a thick cloud of ink. Fluvio was fascinated by this and afterward often pulled squid out of the water to create "...an impermanent beach art to leave the heavens wanting." During his time wandering the southern shore, he often revisited this practice, perfecting his manipulation of the squid to produce surprisingly detailed works. Many have noted his peculiar affinity for squid and their ink, while maintaining an extreme prejudice toward octopi. Some have suggested this is probably due to another childhood event with darkly dissimilar results, though it is important to note this is mere speculation. What is certain is Fluvio's pursuit of the perfect color. He once commented that "...when I saw squid ink, I knew it was just a matter of time..." Eventually he singled out one species, the rare &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;onvatbaar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; squid&lt;/span&gt;, from which he would extract all of his squid ink thereafter. When questioned about this choice in a letter from his brother, Fluvio responded "I have finally found the bright black color I have been searching for. It is like staring into the heart of the sun through a wall at midnight. The One True Color can not be far behind."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-6151050417280277030?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uHkFULq9OSUFaPCWpqb5NXszlCE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uHkFULq9OSUFaPCWpqb5NXszlCE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/jczwxomKXm8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/6151050417280277030/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=6151050417280277030" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/6151050417280277030?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/6151050417280277030?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/jczwxomKXm8/little-bastard-escaping.html" title="Little Bastard Escaping" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIZF3DkvkMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/wvSyzQfySE0/s72-c/octoinkescape.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/little-bastard-escaping.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMERHo8eSp7ImA9WxdVF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-152883195342078686</id><published>2008-07-22T14:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T14:20:05.471-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-07-22T14:20:05.471-05:00</app:edited><title>The Color of Dark</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;excerpted from&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;I DON'T BELIEVE IN TRUE STORIES&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;the diary of Fluvio Nortnoodle&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Oct. 13, 1679&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;START + &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DAY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;7:11 a.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I dreamt of being awake and woke up in a fog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;TRUE + COLOR&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;11:03 a.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Anyone who cares searches for The One True Color. A monochromatic palette leaves one wanting in the opposite direction than one thinks. Solochromacy is the goal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;OCTOPUS + BOX&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;1:17 p.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Saw an octopus sneering at me again. I have grown weary of searching.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;PAINT + CANVAS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;2:51 p.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;The discovery of Dark White brings me closer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-152883195342078686?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kDznc_rmxv3hSfeIUWYk4Gp19yQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kDznc_rmxv3hSfeIUWYk4Gp19yQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/zNgYa7AvWfY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/152883195342078686/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=152883195342078686" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/152883195342078686?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/152883195342078686?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/zNgYa7AvWfY/color-of-dark.html" title="The Color of Dark" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/color-of-dark.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBSX05cCp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-557707730335039894</id><published>2008-07-20T22:19:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:38.328-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:38.328-06:00</app:edited><title>The Octopus Box #413, sketch on wooden table</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIQAddpAC2I/AAAAAAAAACg/bMRtLVzbrGo/s1600-h/ocoobox.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIQAddpAC2I/AAAAAAAAACg/bMRtLVzbrGo/s400/ocoobox.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225301973829421922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Octopus Box #413&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;charcoal, chalk and paper sketch on wooden table&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:13px;"&gt;c.1677&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:13px;"&gt;Fluvio Nortnoodle's endless obsession with finding the Octopus Box, the mythical container from which he believed "all the little bastards were crawling out of...", led him to wander aimless for years on the southern shore in vain. At Sanddog's, a small cafe in Flender he created this sketch on a table while waiting on a cod filét. It is important to notice the ghostly specter rising above the escaping crowd. This has generally been accepted to be the ghost of his dream of ever finding a real octopus box, though he would continue searching for three more years before finally returning to Guilden and his lifelong love, Vespa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-557707730335039894?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5jbk9TnFW_oL_ts1e6iIWJjf-QY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5jbk9TnFW_oL_ts1e6iIWJjf-QY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/Pmlt4QMGDlU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/557707730335039894/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=557707730335039894" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/557707730335039894?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/557707730335039894?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/Pmlt4QMGDlU/octopus-box-413-sketch-on-wooden-table.html" title="The Octopus Box #413, sketch on wooden table" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIQAddpAC2I/AAAAAAAAACg/bMRtLVzbrGo/s72-c/ocoobox.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/octopus-box-413-sketch-on-wooden-table.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cBSXg_eSp7ImA9WxRbGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-5800918570664196030</id><published>2008-07-20T20:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T12:57:38.641-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T12:57:38.641-06:00</app:edited><title>Lady Without Matching Purse and Shoes</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIPovw1MrfI/AAAAAAAAACI/vP_0DBdYUlM/s1600-h/froghoglaV.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIPovw1MrfI/AAAAAAAAACI/vP_0DBdYUlM/s400/froghoglaV.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225275899939433970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lady Without Matching Purse and Shoes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;oil graffiti on bathroom wall&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;c. 1647&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Fluvio's output of work while at the St. Avian Asylum for the Psychologically Troubled was truly prodigious. During his 7,821 day stay he managed to produce 7,355 detailed finished works, 13,723 sketches, drawings, and doodles, along with 595 incomplete and abandoned paintings, plus 13 crude unconsented tattoos. While Fluvio's work became increasingly sophisticated at S.A.A.P.T., he never lost the crude and ruthless approach that really set him apart from the established art community. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lady Without Matching Purse and Shoes&lt;/span&gt;, however, represents a tangential departure for him, although there are elements of it that would resurface later in his greatest masterpiece of all, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I Don't Believe In True Stories&lt;/span&gt;. Conceived beneath a urinal in a flood of tears, along with &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lady Without Matching Purse and Sho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;es II &lt;/span&gt;and&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; III&lt;/span&gt;, the accompanying involuntary tattoos in the series, it represents the moment at which he found himself released from earthily bonds. He emerged from the bathroom incident in a euphoric state and when he found Henrick von Schleck, and later Svetlana Ivanivic, tethered in containment jackets and drugged, in a fit of beneficence he gifted them with equally impressive works. But rather than having an emotional breakdown and the risk of cliché, he transcended his environment and instead, within the confines of an asylum, had the audacity to have an emotional break&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;up&lt;/span&gt;. Many historians point to this event as the seminal moment which galvanized his commitment to his eventual jailbreak three months later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-5800918570664196030?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iO0ebNkngoQFg8Vs-WTfFaOR-qE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iO0ebNkngoQFg8Vs-WTfFaOR-qE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~4/PL4e-8eVOes" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://idbits.blogspot.com/feeds/5800918570664196030/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5856606233357568672&amp;postID=5800918570664196030" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5800918570664196030?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5856606233357568672/posts/default/5800918570664196030?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/IDontBelieveInTrueStories/~3/PL4e-8eVOes/lady-without-matching-purse-and-shoes.html" title="Lady Without Matching Purse and Shoes" /><author><name>Todd Clark</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11289221471697269268</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oeJPXNNbc7g/SIPovw1MrfI/AAAAAAAAACI/vP_0DBdYUlM/s72-c/froghoglaV.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://idbits.blogspot.com/2008/07/lady-without-matching-purse-and-shoes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8MSXszfyp7ImA9WxdVFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856606233357568672.post-8270478462472314451</id><published>2008-07-20T14:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T21:54:48.587-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-07-20T21:54:48.587-05:00</app:edited><title>I Woke Up Too Far</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;excerpted from&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I DON'T BELIEVE IN TRUE STORIES&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;the diary of Fluvio Nortnood&lt;/span&gt;le&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;Jan. 22, 1681&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;TART + DAY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;6:09 a.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;I woke up too far.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;APPRENTICESHIPS + KNOWLEDGE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;9:43 a.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;I paint with overhanded strokes in a very underhanded kind of way; gently forcing the entirety of the uncooperative universe into the prison of my canvas, making it much easier for me to lord over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;DREAMS + EXPERIMENTATION&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;2:21 p.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;Today I taught myself to fly. Tomorrow I shall attempt to do so in directions other than down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;PAINT + CANVAS&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;10:19 p.m.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;The One True Color can only be seen clearly in the dark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5856606233357568672-8270478462472314451?l=idbits.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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