Last Days of Pompeii
All yesterday, Honolulu lay swathed in a deep pink-golden haze, much like the twilight or dawn of the gods.
In other words, Mount Kilauea is erupting on the Big Island, and we have Vog.
Vog smells nice to me, like warm dirt. It's as pleasant as walking around in a clay pot factory. Last night, when I got home, I tried to figure out which position I would like to be immortalized in if I ever find myself buried in ash. Wearing a bikini and hunched over a laptop is obvious. Trotting in profile beside the wall, like a Greek frieze, would be good, too. Knees together, hands to cheeks, face resembling Munch's The Scream-- Not.
When they dig out Honolulu, the mud around all the girls doing hula can be used to cast statues for centuries to come.
In other words, Mount Kilauea is erupting on the Big Island, and we have Vog.
Vog smells nice to me, like warm dirt. It's as pleasant as walking around in a clay pot factory. Last night, when I got home, I tried to figure out which position I would like to be immortalized in if I ever find myself buried in ash. Wearing a bikini and hunched over a laptop is obvious. Trotting in profile beside the wall, like a Greek frieze, would be good, too. Knees together, hands to cheeks, face resembling Munch's The Scream-- Not.
When they dig out Honolulu, the mud around all the girls doing hula can be used to cast statues for centuries to come.
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