Berry Moon

by Pam Noles, based on Berry Moon: Laments of a Muse by Camilla Bruce

Wrap skirt with quilted panel. Cotton, cotton/poly blend, satin.

This piece will be auctioned off to support the Interstitial Arts Foundation at iafauctions.com

Tags: interfictions2auction, interfictions2, interstitialartsfoundation, interstitial, berrymoon, camillabruce
Uploaded: November 11, 2009
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    IAFAuctions.com is part of the fundraising arm of the Interstitial Arts Foundation, a not–for–profit organization dedicated to the study, support, and promotion of interstitial art.

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    A Taste of Interfictions 2
    • “Information is sacred. I don't remember why, or who told me. But I know that information is sacred, so I write it down, scraps of knowledge and observations. I used to write in leather-bound journals with elegant heavy pens, but my fetish for elegance has fallen by the wayside in my rush to commit everything to paper. Now I use cheap marbled composition books, purchased by the dozen. The pen is still important, though. It must write in smooth lines of black, not catch on the page. There is too much to capture.”
      From: Valentines by Shira Lipkin
    • “She came back and opened the door, was rather amazed that the courier was still standing there. The agent raised her arm and tazered the courier's face. Wasn't a clean shot; the stinger punctured her cheek, straight through. The courier fell back and the agent kicked the package through her apartment door, rubbing the arm brace where her tazer was attached. She then unhooked the wire, which would dissolve in about an hour. Kneeling down to the courier she said, "I warned you. It's my risk. It's my package. Why should you give a ---- if I get blown up by it? I have no family left to sue you. And you can ---- your Lord, you ----ing hear me?" She stood up and rolled the courier into the freight elevator, and pressed Down.

      She decided she needed wine before opening the package.”
      From: (*_*?) ~~~~ (-_-) : The Warp and the Woof by Alan DeNiro
    • “People always get my origin story wrong. I wasn't "born in an explosion," I am the explosion; if I'm the chicken, the bomb was the egg. It's just that no one's ever taken responsibility for laying it. Anything else blows up, anywhere in L.A., and the gangs and factions fall all over each other to take credit, but someone takes out the craft services tent on the set of a minor erotic space opera and no one says a word.”
      From: The 121 by David J. Schwartz
    • “In the month of Ind, when the flowers of the Jindal trees were in blossom and just beginning to scatter their petals on the ground like crimson rain, a messenger came to the court of the Child-Empress. He announced that a Hero had awakened in the valley of Jar.

      The messenger was young and obviously nervous, at court for the first time, but when the Child-Empress said, "A Hero? What is his name?" he replied with a steady voice. "Highest blossom of the Jindal tree, his name is not yet known. He has not spoken it, for he has as yet seen no one to whom he could speak."”
      From: Child-Empress of Mars by Theodora Goss

    Click here for another excerpt

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