Saturday, September 23, 2017
Thursday, September 21, 2017
Alex...
I'd like to buy a vowel.
Vowel - $1 (Clarkston)
Date: 2011-06-15, 2:58PM EDT
Reply to: your anonymous craigslist address will appear here
Reply to: your anonymous craigslist address will appear here
For sale, one Vowel: It has
been in my family for years. Who would sell such a thing they ask, and
sometimes why.
Sorry, no I, O, U's accepted.
It should be noted, this vowel is not rare. There are others out there, some exactly the same or even better. This is not necessarily the best deal on a vowel, but even so, at this price I don't expect it to last.
If you are local you can arrange for pick-up, but if not, postage will be added.
Sorry, no I, O, U's accepted.
It should be noted, this vowel is not rare. There are others out there, some exactly the same or even better. This is not necessarily the best deal on a vowel, but even so, at this price I don't expect it to last.
If you are local you can arrange for pick-up, but if not, postage will be added.
- Location: Clarkston
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Saturday, September 16, 2017
How Exciting is That?
At the beginning, it's all measured out, how much life we
get, how much we get to see and of that, how much we get to understand.
We're given only so much excitement and only so much grief. It's measured
just how many breaths we get to take and there seems a formula to the ratio of
tears to laughter within a lifetime.
The problem comes in when people try to hold onto their youth. Try as they might, the truth is they cannot. It would be like trying to hold on to a gentle spring shower. It makes you feel good, it's pleasant to look at but like all things in Life it has a beginning, a middle and an end. You can capture it on film, and you can project the image onto a movie screen, but the feel is not there, the gentle breeze is missing and the lovely sound, although played back with digital wizardry is never the same.
If youth were something we were supposed to hang onto it would have a handle, with a comfortable and ergonomically correct grip. It would be light weight and fastened in such a manner as to never come off or loosen.
There would be youth-handle surgeons for correcting slippage issues or gripitis. There would be separation consulting professionals trained to deal with accident victims. And each youth handle would come in sizes and colors that match exactly to the individual.
And here's the important part; there would be a little screw-on cap at the end of the handle, because stored within the handle would be a variety of pills. There would be pills you could take to add extra silly to your life. There would be adventure pills, foolish curiosity pills, wild abandon pills, goody-twoshoes pills, and of course know-it-all pills.
As these youth handles would have nothing whatsoever to do with the government there would be no warning labels or caution stickers. And of course there would be no handy, color coded chart indicating which pill is which, although taking a cue from nature, you may want to avoid the bright red ones with the yellow stripe.
The problem comes in when people try to hold onto their youth. Try as they might, the truth is they cannot. It would be like trying to hold on to a gentle spring shower. It makes you feel good, it's pleasant to look at but like all things in Life it has a beginning, a middle and an end. You can capture it on film, and you can project the image onto a movie screen, but the feel is not there, the gentle breeze is missing and the lovely sound, although played back with digital wizardry is never the same.
If youth were something we were supposed to hang onto it would have a handle, with a comfortable and ergonomically correct grip. It would be light weight and fastened in such a manner as to never come off or loosen.
There would be youth-handle surgeons for correcting slippage issues or gripitis. There would be separation consulting professionals trained to deal with accident victims. And each youth handle would come in sizes and colors that match exactly to the individual.
And here's the important part; there would be a little screw-on cap at the end of the handle, because stored within the handle would be a variety of pills. There would be pills you could take to add extra silly to your life. There would be adventure pills, foolish curiosity pills, wild abandon pills, goody-twoshoes pills, and of course know-it-all pills.
As these youth handles would have nothing whatsoever to do with the government there would be no warning labels or caution stickers. And of course there would be no handy, color coded chart indicating which pill is which, although taking a cue from nature, you may want to avoid the bright red ones with the yellow stripe.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
That's when I saw them...
We were cleaning things out and donating clothing. I had gone down to the basement and into the cedar closet.
I gathered up a handful of shirts and came back to get some winter coats...
That's when I happened to glance down and see someone's bare feet.
OK, so maybe that's bear feet.
Either way - it surprised me.
Friday, September 8, 2017
The Hackneyed Poet
If I'm to tell a story
If it's a tale you've come to hear
Then follow me, my feathered friend
For the beginnings way back here.
Twas a time before the grammar police
Would stop a speeding verb
When a sprinkling of commas
Wasn’t rare or that absurd
I'd love to weave a mystery
Leaving clues behind the salt
But never in the kitchen
Or locked up in a vault
No bumps beneath the carpet
No cover-ups for me
If I'm to be a writer
I'll need a place beside the sea
A loft with such a window
The view would hardly fit
I'd write villains in the shadows
all the drunks would be well lit
It would be in the first person
Though not the first upon the scene
Or perhaps it's no who-done-it
but an adventure more serene
A quiet retrospective
Informative and lite
Though I couldn't do a travel log
I'm tucked at home each night
So maybe it’s a writer
I'm not supposed to be
but just a hackneyed poet
Left to stare out at the sea.
If it's a tale you've come to hear
Then follow me, my feathered friend
For the beginnings way back here.
Twas a time before the grammar police
Would stop a speeding verb
When a sprinkling of commas
Wasn’t rare or that absurd
I'd love to weave a mystery
Leaving clues behind the salt
But never in the kitchen
Or locked up in a vault
No bumps beneath the carpet
No cover-ups for me
If I'm to be a writer
I'll need a place beside the sea
A loft with such a window
The view would hardly fit
I'd write villains in the shadows
all the drunks would be well lit
It would be in the first person
Though not the first upon the scene
Or perhaps it's no who-done-it
but an adventure more serene
A quiet retrospective
Informative and lite
Though I couldn't do a travel log
I'm tucked at home each night
So maybe it’s a writer
I'm not supposed to be
but just a hackneyed poet
Left to stare out at the sea.
Zobostic Corwin
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Just how aware?
I
found this shady spot under an amazing oak. The grass was park-like and I
loved the quiet. Pushing all the running chatter from my mind was an
on-going process, but then I noticed the smallest of distractions; right
next to where I had set my books down was an industrious camp of ants.
They were all very busy; each one seemed to be in a hurry.
My eyes followed a line of them ascending the oak I leaned against. I turned a little and looked back at the tree. The line of ants wound around each piece of tree bark and they appeared to march single file and with such determination. Just up a bit a giant colorful moth clung to the tree. The quiet footsteps of the ants that passed just next to the moth didn't awaken it. It wasn't without color, but the colors were muted. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I had to hang onto something while I slept.
I remember reading in a Carlos Castaneda book how the moth was considered knowledge by the Yaqui Indians. How that came to be I haven't a clue, but what became suddenly aware to me was my inability to curtail my mental chatter. I hadn't stopped for even a moment.
The thought about moths being associated with knowledge led me to wonder about the general awareness the insect world might have. How odd it must be to be even partially aware of humans, such gigantic creatures who seem to go around oblivious to their plight.
It must be some kind of awareness that causes roaches to scatter when the lights come on. Suddenly they know they can be seen. They become aware their color is different than the color of the floor or wall they are against, and now the giant creatures can see them. Was it over time they became aware?
The amount we don't know or understand is staggering. But then there must be an evolution to knowledge with rules and time schedules of its own. I expect we are in the infancy of our knowledge as it pertains to those we haphazardly step on or swat with our newspaper.
My eyes followed a line of them ascending the oak I leaned against. I turned a little and looked back at the tree. The line of ants wound around each piece of tree bark and they appeared to march single file and with such determination. Just up a bit a giant colorful moth clung to the tree. The quiet footsteps of the ants that passed just next to the moth didn't awaken it. It wasn't without color, but the colors were muted. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I had to hang onto something while I slept.
I remember reading in a Carlos Castaneda book how the moth was considered knowledge by the Yaqui Indians. How that came to be I haven't a clue, but what became suddenly aware to me was my inability to curtail my mental chatter. I hadn't stopped for even a moment.
The thought about moths being associated with knowledge led me to wonder about the general awareness the insect world might have. How odd it must be to be even partially aware of humans, such gigantic creatures who seem to go around oblivious to their plight.
It must be some kind of awareness that causes roaches to scatter when the lights come on. Suddenly they know they can be seen. They become aware their color is different than the color of the floor or wall they are against, and now the giant creatures can see them. Was it over time they became aware?
The amount we don't know or understand is staggering. But then there must be an evolution to knowledge with rules and time schedules of its own. I expect we are in the infancy of our knowledge as it pertains to those we haphazardly step on or swat with our newspaper.
How sad are we?
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