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By CC
It had been a week
since she ate the berries on her hike to Steel Peak. They must have been
powerful weight loss berries, she thought, trying to buck up her spirits as she
left the bathroom for the fifth time that morning. She was indeed losing
weight, the other ladies at the office were casting envious sideways glances as
she passed by, and she felt that offset any other inconvenience, even the rash
blooming along her shins. But the hallucinations were starting to upset her.
She went into the living room, glad it was Saturday and she could stay home.
She lay down on the sofa and folded her handkerchief neatly, laying it on her
stomach so she could reach it quickly if the projectile vomiting, a new
development, started up. This was all so draining, she thought, but falling to
sleep was even less pleasant because of the cat. At first she thought they were
just disturbing dreams, but they were too vivid, to real, to be dreams. By now
she believed they were hallucinations. She hoped
they were hallucination. But she was soo…very…tired, and soon drifted off to
sleep. Then there he was, marching out of the bedroom with his little package
of props. There was the flashing of the signboards: “You,” read the first one. “Are.” “Just.”
“Data,” read the last. It was the same words every time. Then the evil thing
disappeared and she began to sneeze. She was allergic to cats. Could the wicked
thing actually be real? She struggled to her feet and went to the bedroom.
There was nothing there, no cat, no signboards, no litter box. She looked under
the bed and in the closet. No cat. She wobbled back to the living room where
she fell to the floor just before reaching the sofa. The room swam in her
vision: The television, knick knacks, dining table all swirling around and
around like figures on a merry go round. She closed her eyes and departed the
world. Afterwards, the newspaper published a small obituary, her will was
distributed, and she ended up finally as just data. The cat gathered new
signboards and cast about for a new victim. This one was already in hospital,
it would be easy work.
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Instinctive action was
privileged over unproductive thought.
By TNT
This is one reason why
poets are ahead of philosophers and scientists. It is because the poets are
instinct driven and, as everyone knows, words can just be words. Philosophers
will take a volume to explain with much unproductive conjecture their unproven
theories – like scientists use theories to try to prove a hypothesis, but are
unsure if it’s a fluke experiment and of results. There are variables and no experiment
can quite match another seemingly the same. They are often trapped in their own
experiment because one scientist may influence the result and another scientist
will find a different result. Just as opinions differ, personalities are
singular and objective is hard to distinguish from subjective. Everyone thinks
their own opinion is ultimate reality and hard facts. That is the main reason
women don’t often become philosophers. Women are too wise for philosophers.
Women know instinctively what is what. Poetry is far ahead of philosophers and
can put a thought down on paper that took a philosopher twenty years to write
his mostly incomprehensible ideas, deductions, and subjective thoughts. I could
name quite a few times poets have been proven correct and ahead of their
time. So, the woman poet parked her
bicycle at the Library and, with her list of the defects of science and
philosophy she could prove that society has made a huge mistake in allowing men
to rule. The philosophers and science have ruined life for everyone.
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Research your subject for
an hour a day so you stay current.
By JS
I’d always wanted to be a
cowboy. Always wanted to live out West. After several years of wishing, through
a series of bizarre circumstances, I was able to sell my New York penthouse
apartment, reposition all my essential clients with trusted colleagues, and
accept the position of wrangler at a ranch in Texas, just outside of Houston.
As often is the case in
these days of electronic wonders, I had fashioned my resume for this position
more from the fantasies of my childhood than from fact. My first meeting with a horse, therefore, was
not completely successful. It became obvious to the head wrangler, and also,
for the first time, to myself, that I knew nothing at all about real,
hoof-stamping, hay-eating horses. Ride the beast? I was ignorant of the
skills necessary to saddle this animal.
Alas, I recalled an adage
pounded into every business school student:
“Research your subject for an hour a day, so you stay current.” My
objective, of course, was not only to stay current, but to stay in the saddle.
You will be pleased to
know that following this edict, after an hour a day’s study, I was not only
able to saddle and mount the bronc, but to stay with him for the required 8
seconds before the buzzer sounded.
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Intersections, even in
rural areas, are being equipped with traffic lights in place of stop signs.
By RMAF
The Royal Couple in their
Royal Mansion on their Royal Estate announced their Royal Wedding to be held in
a very large Royal arena somewhere on
their Royal acreage. So, due to the increased amount of traffic from the Royal
Spotters, intersections, even in rural areas, are being equipped with traffic
lights in place of stop signs.
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Over the centuries they
have often been made of gold
By RC
Rocky was in line for
the trophy this time, for sure, and that big, beautiful belt buckle! He had put
in his time, work, sweat, and almost tears through the years. He was a cowboy
who gave his all at bronco riding, and now it was going to pay off. He was
certain. He felt it in his bones (“God knows,” he would say to himself often,
“these bones have taken enough pounding, but now they’re talking to me.”)
This, of course,
brought his mind around to the replacement parts he had had to get put in
through the years, the most recent of which had been his knee replacements.
He’d had a hip replacement before that, and a steel plate put in his leg to
mend a fractured shin bone. His mother and father thought that he was nuts to
keep on riding, but that title meant more to him than anything.
“More than your life!”
his last girlfriend had shouted at him on her way out, slamming the door after
her.
Yes, that was probably
true, he reflected. But since she had left much had changed. Few people knew
about his most devastating loss and the replacement which followed it. He
recalled what the doctor had said—not your ordinary hospital doctor, but the
one who operated “off the grid,” you might say. ”Over the centuries they have
often been made of gold,” he had said, referring to the replacement. Of course,
Rocky had been stunned and fascinated. He had never even considered a
replacement for this body part until a very knowledgeable fellow cowboy friend
had referred him to this particular doctor.
“Well, I might not be
able to perform in exactly the same way anymore,” he had replied, and I might
not get much from it, but I can still be a man.”
So, Rocky had gone for
it. And he had been delighted with the fact that—yes—he could still perform.
All the ladies told him so, for they were also delighted with this difference
from the norm.
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There are really only two
kinds of people in existence.
By JL
“There are really only two
kinds of people in existence,” Ray told me. “There are the people who run from
the storm or face it head on.” While my brother may have not been talking about
storm chasing, the principle still stands. This is my 54th tornado,
my 10th dust devil. When the advisory told my team about the perfect
twister brewing, I knew I had to see it. The twister was sporadic to say the
least, but I finally came up to it. I leveled my camera on it and snapped off
shot after perfect shot. I was amazed. I knew ever since my storm in north
Kentucky that this is what I wanted to do, that storms to me were what beaches
were to bums and trains were to hobos. We were inseparable. Then the storm
turned around and headed my way. I let loose some ungentlemanly swear words and
hopped back in the van. “We need to take cover!” I yelled at Ray. “Where?” he
shouted back. “It’s flat land!” He
immediately began flooring it in the other direction from the Devil. I scanned
the horizon. It seemed fruitless until, wait, do my eyes deceive me? “Head to the dug out” I yelled at Ray. “It’s
our only chance.” My brother spun the van around and drove off the road towards
the hollow I saw. We practically bounded out of the car when we got there and
took cover. Using the carabineers to secure us to the earth walls, the storm
passed over us.
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It took several weeks to
formulate the questions we wanted to ask.
By BG
I was so surprised to find
a box in the mail from my Uncle Murgetroid a bit before my birthday. Often I
receive letters and cards from him and always a birthday card. But a box, this
would be exciting! Uncle Murg, as we started calling him when I was a kid, is
quite an unusual old duck. He appeared maybe a half dozen times at holidays
when my folks were alive. He always had fascinating stories to tell as he had spent his whole life as a continuous world traveler. He always brought some
kind of exotic edible goodies for my Mom to serve as treats after dinner while
we listened to his stories. I figured that must be what was in the box. My
brother Tom and I haven’t seen him since the folks passed. It would be exciting
for him, too. My birthday arrived. We opened the box and were amazed. It was a
magnificent book and a note to say he would be visiting just at Christmas in 6
months. We decided not to open the book until Uncle Murg arrived. We spent much
time admiring the cover and researching what the pictures might signify. We
decided we’d ask him all about it first. It took several weeks to formulate the
questions we wanted to ask. However, we wrote them all down and prepared
ourselves for months anticipating Uncle Murg’s arrival and finding out what the
contents of my unusual birthday book would disclose to us.
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