No sooner do I erect a giant monolith— all by myself, mind you, and I, a woman of a certain age with no sense of balance— than people discover it and tell the world that aliens must have been at work.
No one believes this is my latest hobby. (I’d previously built fairy gardens and doll houses.) But I want to leave a bigger footprint, if you will, than fairy gardens, doll houses, and a mountain of XL-Hefty bags of empty Coca-Cola cans.
So I construct ten-foot-high obelisks in out-of-the-way places, places even I can’t get to by foot or four-wheeled vehicles. And I can’t carry the materials by myself, although I have to do it alone if my monoliths are to remain secret. Talk about your conundrums!
My preferred surface is not stainless, but surgical, steel because I can get it so easily from local hospitals after countless operations on broken femurs, wrists, and backbones. (Yes, all mine.) Underneath are wooden frameworks I assemble through the agency of magic.
Most recently, I built a monolith on a hill outside Bellvue, Colorado, and, as I’ve indicated, I’ve never even been there. Last month, without ever visiting the site, I built one in the Desert National Wildlife Refuge north of Las Vegas. I placed one in Hay-on-Wye in Powys, Wales, last March. And, of course, I’ve never been to Wales! Though I hear it’s lovely.
Remember the monolith in Utah’s Red Rock Country? Mine. The one under the Fremont Street Experience canopy in downtown Las Vegas? Mine, too. I’m solely responsible for nearly 250 of these marvels.
All this monolith building is exhausting. I may ask the aliens for help next time.
No one believes this is my latest hobby. (I’d previously built fairy gardens and doll houses.) But I want to leave a bigger footprint, if you will, than fairy gardens, doll houses, and a mountain of XL-Hefty bags of empty Coca-Cola cans.
So I construct ten-foot-high obelisks in out-of-the-way places, places even I can’t get to by foot or four-wheeled vehicles. And I can’t carry the materials by myself, although I have to do it alone if my monoliths are to remain secret. Talk about your conundrums!
My preferred surface is not stainless, but surgical, steel because I can get it so easily from local hospitals after countless operations on broken femurs, wrists, and backbones. (Yes, all mine.) Underneath are wooden frameworks I assemble through the agency of magic.
Most recently, I built a monolith on a hill outside Bellvue, Colorado, and, as I’ve indicated, I’ve never even been there. Last month, without ever visiting the site, I built one in the Desert National Wildlife Refuge north of Las Vegas. I placed one in Hay-on-Wye in Powys, Wales, last March. And, of course, I’ve never been to Wales! Though I hear it’s lovely.
Remember the monolith in Utah’s Red Rock Country? Mine. The one under the Fremont Street Experience canopy in downtown Las Vegas? Mine, too. I’m solely responsible for nearly 250 of these marvels.
All this monolith building is exhausting. I may ask the aliens for help next time.