I’ll never be able to reconcile Shel Silverstein’s art and stories with his appearance. He looked like he would gladly murder you with a shard of broken glass and then throw your body directly into a shark.
you have odd notions about masculine faces.
real gentle-lookin’ sneer
really gentle looking when not say, in the grainiest over inked newspaper photo you could find.
buddy it’s literally the photo he put on the back of The Giving Tree
hell is right-clicking to save an image and accidentally clicking ‘email image’ and having to wait forty years for some email program you didn’t even know existed to rise from its slumber like some lovecraftian ancient god, meanwhile the fans on your laptop are preparing for takeoff and you stare dead-eyed as the rainbow spirals, spirals, spirals. you wait and suffer this cosmic karma. days pass. “just a few more seconds” you slur. your laptop freezes and the concept of time is no longer comprehensible. your family and friends forget your name and you fade from existence.