ojou

Talk about simplicity.

He doesn't really care.

But he likes you.

Usually.

Desc Dump!

ojou is red. Red like blood and red like rust. It's the only colour that he is, from vaguely Polynesian face to large foot. His hair (when he bothers with it) is ragged and shoulder-length, a dark crimson. His eyes are a solid ruby hue, with veins of rust through them. His skin is rusty, with an occasional blotch of a lighter hue. His shoulders are large, and muscled well. Under the coarse leather vest he wears (always open) is a small hunch, set low between his shoulderblades, reminiscient of a fin. His fingers are slightly webbed, as are the toes on his large, bare feet. Despite his size, he has a gentle demeanour.

All gentle illusions fade, however, when he smiles. His teeth are sharklike, locking together in rows. Even his teeth are red, though a bleached and faded shade. Also are his scars. Large lacerations, small burn-spots, larger burn-spots, and a swash across his exposed chest looks to be barely covered with skin.

He wears a pair of ratty jeans, burned through in some spots, and a coarse makeshift belt made from a seat belt, three spoons, a few small rivets, and a ratty braid of macrame.

He is impressively tall, though only subjectively so. Speculations on his true height vary.

Stupid Zen Tricks

What's the sound of half of clappin' hands? No, not that. It's the same sound. What's half the sound, not the sound of half!

Who believes in the dust, anyway?

So, if life had to come from somewhere, where'd it come from? Did we create the universe that created us? Are we just a work of fiction? Are our works of fiction works of reality?

So a Zen Master walks up to a hot dog stand and--Groaaaaaaannnnn! Sorry. Figured I'd do it for ya'.