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There are several lonely books sitting on my bookshelf right now. They beckon for me to play with them; to thumb through their pages with a child's splendor. I want to see just what each one has to offer, but other things catch my eye, or perhaps, my eyes catch them. Either way, the books are neglected. Everyday, I promise to pick them up. They need a chiropractor to stretch their spines a bit. Instead, I'm their tormentor. I tease with quick glances, and no matter how loud they scream, I turn my back on them; the coward's way out.
From my second story window, I can see a stray cat that begs to be taken in. It seems to wander aimlessly. It sniffs at nothing. What was that noise? Paranoia consumes. Fully alert, yet so very tired at the same time, it waits for some kind soul to take her in. I suppose I could be the savior, but I have plants she would want to chew. And carpet. So I suppose it will be spending yet another night alone. As it wanders off down the alley, leaving me alone, I wonder if I will ever see her again.
Sometimes I wonder about the windows in the buildings across the street. If I could look through them and see into the past they frame, who or what would I see? How many people have sat at those windows and looked out at my window wondering the same thing? I never knew them, and they will never know me, yet we are still connected by the same line of sight. I've seen and touched things thousands before me have also seen and touched. I wasn't the first, and I certainly won't be the last. I can only be the now.
Hello...Hey, how're you doing...Good to hear, what's up...That's too bad. Mine turned green...Well, I was hoping for something more ample, but I guess I can't be too picky...Yeah, that's what she said...I'll tell you what. Come over in about thirty minutes, and I'll have it all ready for you...Yeah, it's no problem, I've just got to take care of some business first...The second one...Grasshoppers make me itchy, though...That would be much better...Don't forget the paper clips...Yeah, I don't why she likes them either...OK, see you soon...Bye.
Found myself stuck in the middle of a thousand cars waiting to go through one lane. I wasted more than an hour of my life inhaling toxic fumes and staring at the back bumper of the same Ford Explorer; blinded by blinking burgundy bulbs. The sign says "TWO LEFT LANES END". Then it commands me to "MERGE RIGHT". I ignore it. Stay the course. Instead of immediately obeying the almighty yellow sign, I become the asshole who passes as many cars as he can before he joins the others. It felt good. Maybe I should be an asshole more often.
What's my name? Where am I? I don't think this is Kansas, but I can't be certain about that considering I've never been there before. I don't really recognize anything I see. Not the trees. Not the birds. Not the air. If I had a mirror, I don't think I would even recognize myself. The hands at the ends of my arms (are THOSE my arms?) seem to work normally, but their look is all wrong. I pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming. Ouch. I guess I'm just a part of someone else's dream. Wonder what will happen next?
His soul plods along the blacktop. A dull ache sown in his feet begins to grow in his legs as each step takes him farther from the place he used to call home. The wind whipping across the desert that surrounds him blows sand that bites the cuffs of his jeans. His throat burns with thirst; heart yearns for a cold drink of water. The road leads to Unknown, and there, the real journey begins. After that, where he goes is uncertain. The only thing he does know is that every road goes somewhere. Even dead ends have a destination.
What are you thinking when you read these one hundred words? Do you hope to gain any insight into my life, or do you hope to find insight into your own life? Are you looking for a good laugh; something to share at the water cooler tomorrow? Do you want to find words that you can't find yourself to express how you feel? Did you find this website through a friend? A search engine? Or was it blind fate that guided you here? I'll do the best I can to help you, but I don't think I have any answers.
Out on the lake, the canoe wallowed without a care. The sun bore down on the water's surface; its beams dancing on the waves. She wasn't sure how long she had been amidst it all, but in this idyllic place, time neither existed nor mattered. Looking up at the sky, she wondered if she would ever be able to go back to the shore where monotony reigned. There, she was always moving while the world stood and watched. Here, she could be still, and watch the world spin till dizzy. Things were much better that way. The dream ends now.
Time, Wave, and Wind were sitting in a bar discussing their philosophies on life. Time says "I like being constant. They always know what they're gonna get." Wave says "But you're too relentless. Me, I'll knock them down for a while, but then I'll let them catch their breath." Wind says "You both take this too seriously. I believe in unpredictability. All speeds and all directions is what they thrive upon." Bartender says "Oh yeah. They get all of that, and more, from me." They look at him and say "How's that?" Bartender smiles and says "I sell cheap beer."
Nothing but shadows on the wall; cast by a thousand memories. They can be seen but not touched. Sometimes they move, but more often than not, they stand still; waiting and anticipating. The hope that they will once again be brought to life keeps them full enough to ensure they won't starve. But starve they do as hope provides sustenance for only so long. Do not feel sorry for them. They know what is coming, and they are not sad. They will miss the old times, but know new ones lurk around the corner as they slowly fade into light.
I guess God wants us all to be clean, and that's why he created roaches. He uses them to help point out the week old crust of bread under the table. Roaches run around when we turn on the light to alert us to the mess. If they could carry a large red flag, I'm sure they would wave that instead of scampering. The exterminator comes by to kill the roaches, but they've got a job to do. So I say, let them do their job. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and the roaches make sure we don't forget that.
Too much emphasis is placed on instant gratification. Sure, macaroni and cheese in a box tastes good, especially when a dollop of cream cheese is melted in, but have you had real macaroni and cheese? You know, the kind that takes an hour to make. When something is rushed that isn't meant to be, you end up with stuff that tastes good at first, but the leftovers end up forgotten in the fridge awaiting the mold onslaught. Put some time and love into it, and the rewards you reap will be worth the extra effort. A spider taught me that.
The Lightning Man used to pay me a visit when thunderstorms congregated over my house. He would stand at my door crackling at me; thriving on my fear. My covers protected me, as they always seemed to do whenever faced with something concocted by my overactive imagination. He hated it when I made my retreat beneath the sheets. So, as payback, he would come to the side of my bed and crash cymbals in my ear. I haven't seen him in quite a while. Last I heard, he was dating a Tesla coil from Tucson. I hope he's doing okay.
The celeritous fuscous reynard caprioles over the indolent canine. In other words, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. I like the Thesaurus. It's quite helpful when my brain decides it doesn't want me to remember a word I know exists; however, to me, it's abused as a means of making writing prettier than they should be. Perhaps, as someone with a small vocabulary, I'm a bit jaded, but I think there are others out there who would agree with me. Say what you mean, and stay away from that coprolite. Excuse me. Stay away from that crap.
"Hey kid. Get over here."
"See the number on that scoreboard showing how many runs we have?"
"Good. Right now it's telling me we have five runs, and we need six. You know the difference between five and six?"
"No son. It's two. As in two lights. If those two lights turn on and change that five to a six, we win the game. Now go out there and give those two lights some action. Got it?"
Those two lights now shine, and the damn Yankees head to the World Series. Again.
Be away with you! I wish to never see you again; with your insolent mutterings of sadness. If I could slough you off like so much dead skin, you know I would, but that power eludes me. How am I to go on when you keep hanging wet sheets on my already slow soul? Time is on my side, but he is just a sloth with decaf. I beg of you to retreat into the pit of forget. I'll get down on my knees, but don't make me go any lower. I'm not ready to end up in the ground.
Life was still the night he decided to make the change. The decision had slowly developed during his entire existence, but to him it was a surprise. The gravity of what he was about to do hit him square on the head--red and delicious to the rescue. Being a cartographer was something he knew nothing about, but the only way to make the journey was to draw his own map. The maps of others had become too unreliable; leading him to places which would never exist. A blank piece of paper and a pen was all he needed now.
Disbelief ran rampant in her mind as she stared at the half moon suspended like a bowl waiting to catch a falling star. It was times like these the sky comforted her; held her in its dark arms. Other than information gleaned from the occasional documentary, she knew very little about what went on in that great expanse. Somehow, it gave her hope to know that if it could exist without her knowing anything about it, perhaps she could do the same. At some point, a falling star would come careening into her life. Then she would wax till full.
I wish I knew which of my possessions I will never use again. I could then sell them or just throw them out so they will stop cluttering up my life. It's too bad memories can't be handled in the same way. What do I remember that will be of no use to me? The older I get, the more my mind becomes encumbered with things I would like to forget. I suppose they stick around because they have something important to teach me, but when will that happen? I have a feeling it will be when I'm not looking.
I believe I may have figured out what makes adults and children different. It's playing in the dirt. When did you last see a grownup playing in the dirt? I don't mean those adults who plant gardens, or play in the dirt because their children do, or paleontologists, archaeologists, etc. who get paid to play in the dirt. I mean playing in the dirt like it's the best toy in the world. When my father builds sandcastles by himself, I make fun of him because I think he's too old. I just realized he's been having more fun than me.
Stop me if you're heard this one before. A priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into a bar after a long day of spreading words of wisdom. The priest says... What? Oh, you've heard it. OK, well how about this one. A farmer with a duck on his head is walking down the road to the town market. You've heard that one too? I know one about a chicken that wants to cross the road. Do you want to know why? You already know why? All right, I've got it. This one is hilarious. Are you ready? Knock, knock...
Scott rushed home because his mother had called to tell him to hurry up before dinner ran away. Just three light months away, a meteor struck his spaceship, knocking out the dark matter generator. Stopping on the side of the wormhole, he lowered the hood to see if he could fix the generator, but he soon realized it didn't exist anymore. He tried calling Fred who owned a tow truck. He had no way of knowing that Fred was dinner, and Scott's mother was very hungry.
Today's lesson: Things are never as bad as they seem. You could be Fred.
She lay on the beach with no worries troubling her mind. Waves lapped at her body, leaving grains of sand on her bare skin. The sun warmed her as a cool breeze blew over her--conflict in nature bringing compromise in temperature. A few seagulls traversed the sky looking for scraps of food, their cries swooping down and echoing in her ears. With no one else on the beach to interrupt her peace, she would have been able to enjoy this perfect summer day if the man with the black fedora and smoky jacket hadn't killed her the night before.
The cursor keeps blinking at me. I know it wants me to stop ignoring it and give it some sort of exercise. I do my best to oblige, but sometimes, there's nothing I can do but hold down a key so that it speeds across the screen leaving a trail of A's or P's behind. It seems to really enjoy the TAB key. I'm glad it's so patient. Otherwise, it would probably jump off the screen and run away to Acapulco with a strobe light. Maybe it would rather go with a turn signal. Strobe lights can be so Type-A.
People like to say "Walk in my shoes for a day. See things from my perspective." I know I've said it. What I didn't realize until recently was that in order for someone else to walk in my shoes, I had to take them off first. I don't know that I've ever taken off my shoes. There were times I wish I had, but I just laced them up tighter. Life would be easier if everyone walked around barefoot, though it would hurt more when toes got stepped on. I guess I'll keep my Chucks on, but not too tight.
From her perch on the balcony, Allison didn't see anyone on the street. She hadn't seen a car pass by for several minutes. The bats flying overhead would have to be her audience. She had been thinking about this moment for a long time, and had decided earlier in the evening to just get it over with. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Stepping up on the railing, she looked down, held her breath, and jumped. When it was all over, she opened her eyes, and was delighted to find out her jetpack worked. She knew she was going to make millions.
He had riches. He had the girl. From the tallest tower in his castle, he had anything he could see—bequeathed by people who would follow him through thick and thicker. He had everything he ever wanted, except the most elusive treasure in the kingdom—himself. He became lost while journeying through a dark wood. For years, he searched as far as his mind would take him and always failed. One day, a gracious angel woke him from the nightmare. He did not know where he was before, or where he was going, but he finally knew where he was.
I have a real problem with most of the cooking shows one finds on television. As a commoner, I can't afford the multitude of ingredients or the magnitude of time it takes to make those intricate meals. I'm sure everything made tastes wonderful, but for those whose taste buds aren't finicky, there needs to be a show geared towards them.
That was me getting on my soapbox, but, as most soapboxes are these days, it's small and made of cardboard. I just ended up crushing it, and now my feet are back on the floor.
I love the Food Network.
I have the most inconsistent toilet flush. If sharing this information isn't any indication of the drabness of today, then maybe the fact that I have named the different flushes is. Enjoy.
Stuck Handle—The most common. Handle gets stuck. Toilet keeps running.
Stuck Stopper—The handle doesn't stick, but the stopper does. Watch the water swirl.
Fool Me Flush—Everything seems to work fine, but the stopper doesn't seal completely, causing a slow drip. The toilet must refill periodically. Very annoying.
Stuck Handle Stopper Fool Me—I have no explanation for this. Toilet is taken out back and shot.
Legend tells of a ghost with a skillet instead of hands. The locals of Mericose, a small South Georgia town, know him simply as Skillet Man. Many years ago, he worked at The Train Stop, a restaurant in Mericose. One day, while sautéing mushrooms, a wire came loose from the ceiling and landed on him. 220 volts coursed through him for about an hour and a half. When he awoke, he discovered the skillet had fused to his hands. His ghost now lurks in the basement, waiting for someone to bring him some eggs so he can make an omelet.
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