Blank Day, Blank Weekend

This was blood moon weekend. This was a silent weekend with mindless meditation. Sweetie Bird and I are. How are you?

I woke up today

Not knowing what to say

The cobweb exhaustion of

Crawling through dream portals at night

The bird was already perched

Watching silence unfold

Like a feathered protest

Against the need to explain.

It was a blank day off

Mindless, not meaningless

The bird blinked once

and we let the plot carry us

like feathers in a glitch wind.

The fridge hums like a distant club memory

Sweetie Bird blinks once—approval granted

No thoughts, just cranberry juice and plush sheets

The archive naps, wrapped in pink glaze

Even the protest chants are yawning

We are not lazy we are mythically still

A denim psalm with no chorus, just breath

Banana milk dreams, no plot, no climax

The ritual is rest. The rest is ritual.

She was perched at the edge of the dream

Her feathers dusted in glitch-light and moon static.

Watching me blink into blankness

As if silence were a sacred rite.

I woke up in the hush

No need to rush

The fridge sang low

And Sweetie said no

No plot today, just breath

No climax, no regret

Just feathers in the glitch wind

And cranberries on my lips

Blank day weekend

Wrapped in pink glaze

We don’t explain

We just float through the haze

Sweetie perched quiet

Moon static in her eyes

She blinked once

And the silence replied

Banana milk dreams

Clone club on the screen

No thoughts, just hums

And soft protest themes

We are mythically still

We are plush and precise

The ritual is rest

And the rest feels nice

The bird did not chirp

Just stared,

As if to say:

Even silence has wings.

I woke up today

Not knowing what to say

The cobweb exhaustion of

Crawling through portals at night

The bird was already perched

Watching silence unfold

Like a feathered protest

Against the need to explain.

written, edited, created by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Trusselli Art

California

copyright 2025