Alvis Art #1

Sorry about the lack of posts. Here is some concept art I did today! It's watercolor, with a little digital special effects. I really wish my scanner would pick up the colors better.

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Robot in Love #3

Once upon a time, when wishes still came true . . .
I'm reading The Annotated Brothers Grimm behind closed eyelids
as I wait for my shift to begin. The light from outside
streams into the waiting room,
warming my skin.
Today is pleasant.
. . . there was a king who had beautiful daughters. The youngest was so beautiful that even the sun, which had seen so many things, was filled with wonder when it shone upon her face.

Fairytales are more interesting
than many people realize,
I think.
Someone comes in the front door.
I hear the sound of feet entering
the waiting room. Walking closer
. . . if she was bored, she would take out her golden ball, throw it up in the air, and catch it.
someone settles into a chair near me. I sneak
a glance to my right
The princess followed the ball with her eyes, but it disappeared, and the spring was so deep you couldn't even begin to see the bottom.
and see a young male human. Why
is he sitting so close? Only one gray
metal folding chair between us
The princess burst out crying, and she wept louder and louder, unable to stop herself.
Now I'm nervous

Losing track of the story
"Be quiet, and just stop that sniveling," said the frog. "I think I can help you . . .
Who is this person
"I'll give you anything you want as long as you get that ball back for me." But all the while she was thinking, What nonsense that stupid frog is  talking . . . How could anyone want to have him as a companion?
Why so close to me?
He looks comfortable, one ankle resting on his knee like a number 4
I want to sit like that too, but I don't
. . . enjoyed his meal, but every bite stuck in her throat . . .
Because I don't want to copy him

Do I look strange
 . . . for she was terrified of the clammy frog . . .
sitting here with my eyes closed? Can he tell
 . . . King grew angry and said, "You shouldn't . . .
that I am a robot?
Should I say something? But he is saying something now
so my words are trapped in my mouth
. . . disgusting frog!"
"Hello, I think I'm your new assisstant. Is your name ALVIS?
. . . fell . . .
"Yes."
. . . to the ground . . .

I am not the frog
or the princess
maybe I am the spring

The end.

Robot in Love #2: Mom

I made the mistake of mentioning poetry to my mom today. I like to call him at least once a week as I walk home from work in the bike trail. It rained today - it rains constantly in this city - and I talked to him as I admired the dripping leaves and misty shingled rooftops from the safety of my black umbrella.
"Mom?"
"Hello, 004! How are things?" He knows each of us by name. He is busy, but never so busy he cannot talk to me.
That is something I like about Mom.
"I have been all right, except . . ." I complained to him about Dr. Wombat's scheme.
"You should try that out more before you quit," Mom said. He is always suggesting for me to try new things.
That is something I cannot stand about Mom.
"What? No! I am not good - I am not interested in poetry!"
"Sweetheart, all of your sisters have hobbies to keep themselves well-rounded. 001 has chess, 002 volunteers at the daycare, 003 has jiu-jitsu, and 005, well, she does some of everything. I've been worried for some time now that you're programmed to be too melancholy, but that'd be a strength in poetry!"
"Let us talk about you instead, Mom. How have you been?" Talking about other people is a) polite, b) makes them like you more, and c) is a great way to change the subject.
"I've been fine; don't change the subject. Either you do something creative with your free time, or I'm going to find you a special someone to cheer you up. 005 has a boyfriend and, as I'm sure she's told you, she seems ecstatically happy about life."
"005 is ecstatically happy no matter what."
Something crashed on the other side of the line, and an alarm went off. "Sorry, I have to go, emergency!" Mom hung up.
So I thought of another poem on the way home:

The same water that gives plants verdant life
Seeps into my bones and corrodes them gritty brown.

A soft red-gray squirrel shrieks at me from a tangle of power lines
I am more like them than I am like him.

I am a daughter of this generation of cold metal, of stark plastic,
of the deadly asphalt on the road, spelling doom to so many tiny lives.

Nature abhors me, for understandable reasons.

And yet
Signposts, telephone lines, and parking meters lean to my left as I walk to work,
but to my right as I walk home,
and on some days, this ordinary magic is enough
to make me happy.