Session October 21, 2017

He hadn't talked about it to anyone, not even his grandfather.
by JL

Daniel walked down the street with his grandfather, looking at the performers. He saw human pyramids, fire eaters and living statues, but what he liked the most was the balancing acts, men and women who balance on everything from pins to poles. One was even found balancing on a wine bottle. Daniel saw these feats and wanted so bad to be there. It was exciting. He was a clumsy onlooker and he thought it was a silly dream. He hadn't talked about it to anyone, not even his grandfather, who knew him better than anyone. 

He pulled his grandfather's wrinkled hand towards one of the performers. He was standing on one leg while his limbs were holding up balancing sticks, much like the spinning plates routine only instead  of holding glass plates he held 2 grinning monkeys. Daniel watched amazed as with a bounce he switched the one he was holding on his foot to the other one. Seeing him performing in such a manner gave Daniel confidence. 

He tugged at his grandfather's sleeve. "Grandpa, do you think that I could be up there one day?" His grandfather looked at him seriously, then at the performer, then back. "You sure you want to make a living on a balancing stick?"

"No, grandfather, I mean as a balancing artist!"

"Maybe one day, if you get a couple of sticks and a monkey."

10 years later, Daniel remembers this time as he was about to perform his act. "I wish I had a monkey!" He walked into the spotlight. "But at least I have skill and sticks."

I tried to stay awake to listen for the sound but couldn't keep my eyes open.
by JS

I'd come to India on the midnight train and met her within minutes of my arrival. She'd offered to take me to all those places I'd read about and longed to see, and so we started off in a hired carriage, not caring about the late - or you might say - early hour. 

As the night progressed, turned into day and again the night, I was mesmerized by her kindness, her beauty, her charm. Exploring one ancient temple, I could restrain myself no longer. "Marry me!" I proposed. "We could live here - I'll move! Or come with me to my country.

I had not slept since leaving the train and could not keep my eyes open only for her presence. 

She smiled. "If you can hear the silvery sounds of the Hasmatic bells, which are rung at midnight, I will go with you as your wife wherever you want me to go." She gently touched my cheek, then we continued our tour, however I could hardly attend to her words, so much in anticipation was I of hearing the bells. I tried to stay awake to listen for the sound but couldn't keep my eyes open.

A Dutch official saved the sacred texts from the flames.

By CC

The dove sat peacefully on the little rock ledge and looked out over the panoramic view, which was largely wasted on its little peanut sized brain. But it wasn’t entirely wasted. It was looking for something: far away on the snowy mountain, a small flicker of flame leapt into being. The dove knew what that meant: The sacred texts were burning today. They were burnt every third Sunday throughout the year, and when they ran out of sacred texts, they burnt doves hoping by this sacrifice to get more sacred texts to burn by the next third Sunday. It usually worked, which told the doves what kind of God this was. So all doves kept their eyes glued on the mountain every third Sunday: if they saw fire, they were safe.  From observing the Dutch, the doves had learned a rudimentary form of calendaring that they used to keep track of this rotation, and thereby spare themselves from certain death if they fancied a picnic in the snow on the wrong Sunday. One third Sunday, a Dutch official saved the sacred texts from the flames, which was a bad move. The doves would never say for sure, but many speculated that they were involved on that terrible day when the Dutch official was sacrificed instead of them.

You tell me to get on with something and your voice is so loud the cat jumps.
by MD

It's a long journey through the sand, but I'm happy to get away from that goose of a mate of mine. She's loud and abrasive, and she's been after me for months to make the annual trek south, but I'm getting older now and my pinions ache.

"Gander," she'll honk. "It's time to map the route and get going. The high season in Florida is approaching and we have to stake out our swimming pool before the other geese do."

I admit it. I lost patience with her. "You tell me to get on with something and your voice is so loud that the cat jumps." I knew that would annoy her. She's never understood my affection for the cat - she thinks it's unnatural, but really, Fizzy is a gentle soul and only meows when it's mealtime. Anyway, even though we birds mate for life, every once in awhile its pleasant to exchange the meow and purr for the honk and squawk. 

Well, here I am on the southward trek now, just as Goosie planned. The difference is that Goosie chose to fly - maybe she'll get lost, but if she finds a suitable Florida swimming pool, I know she'll save me a spot. What she doesn't know (because I told her I preferred to walk to spare my painful pinions) is that the route I'm taking leaves a clear path of my footprints in the sand, and Fizzy will be following along soon after me.

My wife was involved in the Sanctuary program at church.
by BG

Being out in the country so far away from civilization, we were just devastated when it went up in flames. What were we going to do? There wasn't a place for miles around that we could possibly use. If we weren't so far away from the nearest rural community...but of course, silly me. That's why this place was chosen. My wife was involved with the Sanctuary program at church. And indeed they analyzed several possibilities but in the end selected the location because it was perfect  - a sanctuary for Elsie. Poor Elsie, where could we take her now? We had given her sanctuary to avoid return to the Borden Company, where she had escaped from many years ago.

They rode side by side up the swamp road.

By RC

They rode side by side up the swamp road, Madeleine and Stewart both pensive, as they had been all morning, and disinclined to converse. They had an awful business to attend to on this particular morning, and someone to see in the swamp. Madeleine, or Maddie, as she was known to friends, didn’t usually accompany Stewart on his “outings,” but she just had to assure herself that he would be all right this time. No matter what happened, she had her talisman which could ward off all harm to her and anyone she was with.

They were an odd couple, if the truth were to be told. Madeleine had a penchant for dressing like a man, drinking wine, and riding fast horses. And Stewart was a werewolf. Still, they loved each other in their own ways.

Just that morning in the study they had talked about what they should do concerning Stewart’s problem, which was sure to get him into trouble in this little English town where everyone knew everyone else’s business.

“I just don’t know, Maddie,” Steward had said. “It all seems so hopeless. I don’t know how I ever got this way and I have no idea how to reverse the curse.”

“I think it has something to do with that woman you dallied with back in London,” Maddie replied. I think she was a witch.”

“You really think so?” Stewart replied. “I’m terribly sorry. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course, dear. It was the witch all the time. You would never do such a thing in your right mind. By the way, she’s moved to this town.”

“No!”

“Yes, and I know where she goes each morning.”

“Where is that?”

“She goes into the swamp, to perform her incantations.”

“Interesting, but what is that to us? You don’t think that I want to come near her again, do you?”

“Of course not. I’ve been doing some research, and talking to folks, as well. It’s an old folk legend that if the witch dies by the hand of the person she’s bewitched, all spells are reversed.”

“Really. But I couldn’t do such a thing. Never!”

Maddie gave Stewart that look she was famous for: the steady gaze and the half smile that said she knew something you didn’t. “I know Stewart, you’re so kind,” she replied. “On the other hand, the wolf could do so. And there wouldn’t have to be anything left for people to find. Problem solved.”

Session October 7 2017

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She didn’t know better than to say what came into her head.

By CC

Ursula went to find the magician in the woods late one winter evening. She was wearing her ermine cloak closely wrapped around her body to stave off the cold. The cold was her enemy; it made her mechanism stop working.

Today she was lucky; a curl of smoke twisting from the cottage chimney told her the magician was home. She kicked politely at the door and heard him shambling over to open it.

“Oh, you,” he said dismissively, standing to one side to let her pass. “Tick tock tick tock,” she replied nervously. It was always difficult dealing with him, or anyone, for that matter.

“Here,  let me take your coat,” he said, chuckling.  She walked over by the fire to warm  her legs. “Let me see. You want me to un-curse you, I’ll bet.”

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Ursula replied, hoping to convey subdued humility.

“Well, it’s been long enough, wouldn’t you say?” he chuckled, and waved his magic wand over her form. They both stood expectantly, waiting for something to happen. She was so excited she could barely hold still But nothing changed. He waved it again, and then again. Then he laughed outright and she knew he was just being cruel. It was his nature to be cruel. She didn’t know better than to say what came into her head and replied “TICK tock TICK tock TICK tock…”

The magician laughed until he fell down and cracked his head on the edge of the sofa. Knocked out, he rolled and dropped the wand. Ursula grabbed it with her toes and waved it around a few times, not sure how it worked. Suddenly a crackle filled the room and the magician turned into a large pot of flowers with legs. The flowerpot suddenly surged to its feet and began running around the room, banging into things, dropping blossoms.

“Tick tock tick tock,” laughed Ursula. Let him see what it felt like now. She warmed her mechanism before the fire, while they both lasted.

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A month after he arrived he had been writing letters full of miserable nostalgia.
by MD

He'd always wanted to visit the forbidden city. He'd stared at the photo of the royal red gate for hours on end, dreaming of exotic sites and fascinating people. He entered every sweepstakes, every lottery, every Publisher's Clearing House contest, in an attempt to win enough money to finance his trip. Finally, ironically, it was his Irish Sweepstakes entry which bought his ticket to China. So he packed his bags, booked his trip, and boarded the airplane.

After what seemed an interminable time of flight delays, custom searches, taxicab scams and rickshaw malfunctions, he found himself at the red portal. He knocked and was quickly admitted by an inscrutable doorman outfitted in black silk pajamas. In his excitement, he failed to notice that the doorman locked the gate behind him.

It took a while before he recognized that the door he had daydreamed so long about entering was really the entrance to a prison. There was no escape for him. A month after he arrived he had been writing letters full of miserable nostalgia. He wrote about his longing for burgers and fries at Mickey D's, and losing at the weekly lottery, and cleaning out the litter box of his childhood pet cat Dribbles. 

The problem was, there was no way to mail them. So he spent the remainder of his life learning to speak and write in Chinese, so he could introduce the prison guards and his fellow prisoners to the miserable nostalgia of life in 21st century America. It wasn't long before his writings incited a riot, and the prisoners battered down the gates and escaped. All except our lonely letter writer, who was trampled and killed in the  melee.

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The individual profits were issued quarterly in separate checks.
by RMAF

Mount Heaven gazing was a big mountain, a mesa in the vast American desert. Back in 1955, there was a little ad in the Wall Street journal: "Big Mountain for sale by Chief Mighty Flighty." He was a solo Indian who had roamed the desert for decades. 

A group of planet gazers who read the ad in the Wall Street Journal decided to put their money together and buy the massive mountain mesa. Then they put ads in all the planetary magazines: "Rent Mount Heaven Gazing for a day, a week or a month."

They were successful in their business adventure. They even let the now-rich and popular Chief Mighty Flighty keep his 10 tepees and 10 wives and 33 children (and counting) on his old home spot on the mountain mesa. 

The individual profits were issued quarterly to the co-owner of the rock, in separate checks.

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He was appalled at his anger, but he couldn’t stop himself

By RC

Angus was an average bull—at least, he thought that he was average. His owner had named him under the mistaken impression that he was an Angus bull, but then Fred was not really much of a cattleman. He had been a top CEO in the corporate world at one time, but had always harbored a secret desire to be a rancher, so when he retired he bought his acreage in eastern Texas and started acquiring animals. What Fred did not know was that Angus was actually a Mexican breed of bull, and he was proud of the fact.

Angus had a very protective nature, and all of the young calves, of whatever breed they were, just naturally sensed that. Whenever there was danger they resorted to him. And Angus would charge anyone who came too close, because the calves and their mothers were always afraid that they would be taken away and relocated to another ranch—or even worse, taken to the slaughter house. Now, Angus couldn’t really see too well, because first of all, he had a thick patch of hair which hung down the front of his face. Sometimes he charged the wrong people, such as the time when the missus came out to collect a young, white calf. She only wanted to show him off to some friends, because he was a very special breed.

Angus would get very angry at such times. Really, he was appalled at his anger, but he couldn’t stop himself. On this occasion the missus scrambled away, in a deathly fright and tripped, sprawling face first into what humans called a “cow patty.” Well, of course, Angus being the kind soul that he really was, was mortified. He didn’t know what he could do to make it up to her. He decided to herd the little white calf over to the ranch house and her waiting friends. They admired the calf, of course, but even more the bull which could do herding chores. One of them was in the news business and it wasn’t long before she brought a camera crew out to do a story on the bull that herded animals. Angus was not too jazzed about this, so he charged them. But then, again, he was ashamed of his behavior. He just could not help himself, but his anger never lasted long. So, to make it up to them, he rounded up every calf on the ranch and brought them to the house and the waiting group of reporters.

And that was how Angus ended up in the circus. He never really wanted to be a circus bull. To him that was just too much bull! But, he tried very hard to hold his temper, and the circus even had a solution. They let him charge the clowns. Of course, Angus had never actually struck a single person, but he was the delight of the circus as he pretended to hit them in the butt. Still, he missed the old days on the ranch, so he ran away several times. Finally, the missus there sent him a photo of him and the little white calf, who was his favorite, and they put it up on the wall of his stall at the circus. Finally, Angus settled down.

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We see the times set out in a graphical form that encompasses location, duration and order.
by JS

We see the times set out in a graphical form that encompasses location, duration and order. I am using this picture to illustrate my position.

Currently we are encumbered by piggishness. The graphics here depict a society reflecting that. The location (from the photo) could be anywhere in rural America - keeping in mind that citizens of large cities often travel to the hinterlands to perform their most nefarious deeds: to let loose and become the inner animals that they truly are.

Further, it is a test of endurance, for example, to stand in the hot sun (or cold wind) exposed to the elements, for unless a man (or pig) is willing to devote himself to such a display - giving time and energy for the cause - it cannot be said that he truly embraces it.

The order depicted in this picture - each man standing stolidly beside the next, chests, snouts and belly buttons aligned, all adhering to the Chief situated in prominence behind them - is a prime example. Without this order, it is obvious that the pigs, and their just cause, would fall apart.

And so, we have herein, a picture of our times: Piggish men, controlled by one white, duck-like being, restructuring our society, for better or worse, into a new ideological framework.

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She put the letter down and looked out to sea.
by BG

She put the letter down and looked out to sea. Wiping the stray tear from her eye, she thought back on their bittersweet parting earlier. She was not going to let him get to her even though it was no fair for him to leave right before Christmas. It was even more unfair to the little guy. He just adored him. Couldn't bear to let him go this morning and clung to him all the way down to the dock to see him off.

Realizing he hadn't come back home, she turned and went over to the front door, grabbed her jacket to go out and look for him, and as she pulled the door open, there was her little man with Christmas in his arms. Even though he was not going to be there in person, he hadn't let his boy down on his promise that they'd have a good holiday.

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She was not surprised to see that already he was a million miles away.
by TNT

As she glanced down at the guidebook she was not surprised to see that he was already a million miles away. She could enjoy the art galleries without his whining demands. A million miles behind her wasn't far enough. Why had she ever allowed herself to give in to his pressure to have a child? As soon as she returned from Europe she would ask for a divorce and allow her husband to have the child to raise. 

All she wanted to do was travel. Her husband did not appreciate her culture and her mind, but at least he paid for her stylish clothes and the high style of her life. She was very happy to be alone. Who needed a little Sasquatch to drool on her clothes and throw up all over the new couch?  Goodness! Her resolution permitted her a brief smirk, He wanted the child. Now he could deal with it.