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The Post Anything Thread #4

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Anything goes in this thread... within ToS, anyway! 

On 8/10/2019 at 11:08 AM, sober4life said:

I've seen a bear once in my life and he was using toilet paper.  He was wearing a smokey the bear hat too.  Nobody ever believes that story.

 

4 hours ago, evalynn said:

The Peace of Wild Things, by Wendell Berry 

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

 

 

43 minutes ago, watalife said:

Coffee does nothing

Why would someone keep calling you and asking you the same question over and ever. Im going to have to tell her the deep dark truth. 

 

 

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Posted (edited)

That was trippy @MarkintheDark, nice. I came to this forum to relax. That was even better!

I have always been a P.K. d**k fan...

"I'm not a peace officer," Rick said. "I'm a bounty hunter." From his opened briefcase he fished out the Voight-Kampff apparatus, seated himself at a nearby rosewood coffee table, and began to assemble the rather simple polygraphic instruments...

"This" - he held up the flat adhesive disk with its trailing wires - "measures capillary dilation in the facial area. We know this to be a primary autonomic response... This records fluctuations of tension within the eye muscles.

From Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. d**k.
Published by Doubleday in 1968

 

Edited by 20YearsandCounting
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KINDNESS by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

you travel where the Indian in a white poncho

lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans

and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must also know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense any more,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you into the day to mail letters and

purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend.

 

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@Epictetus One of my favorite poems is by Naomi Shihab Nye! Here it is:

 

Making a Fist
BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE
    We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.
                                                                  —Jorge Luis Borges

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

“How do you know if you are going to die?”
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
“When you can no longer make a fist.”

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.
 

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Posted (edited)

I was in a car dealership/repair shop maybe thirty years ago.  At a point, I had to take an elevator to the second floor.  With me on the ride was a salesman/manager, a thirty-something mom and her two kids, maybe 8-10 years of age.  The woman, who was attractive, looked overheated, her face disheveled.  The elevator took a moment to start. The lady fidgeted, shook her head from side to side, as if readying to spit.  Her face was damp red now, and heat rose from the top of her head.  The kids, usually at least poking each other at that age were stuck in place, eyes down.  Just as the elevator started up, the stylishly dressed mom turned to the sales person, saying with volume up, "I just can't believe how in the ###k you could let my car get stolen while it was here for repair."  You should have seen those kids faces.

Bulgakov Fly-on-the-wall

Edited by Bulgakov

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Sometimes I wish I could jump in a time machine and slap my 12- and 13-year-old self for purposely slouching, because now I sit up straight for maybe 5 minutes at a time before I forget or my back gets tired. But everytime I see a picture of myself hunched over, it's so cringey. 

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20 minutes ago, sober4life said:

I don't think I've ever sat up straight.  I've had scoliosis since I was 13 so standing straight or sitting up straight is miserable.

They thought I had scoliosis at one point. My back curves in more on one side, and my doctor was concerned until she had me sit and it disappeared. Which means I just have one leg slightly longer than the other. 🤣

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My daughter turns 11 in a few weeks. She has informed me that she thinks that 11 is too old for trick or treating. When I pointed out to her that her friends who are 14 and 15 still trick or treat she replied - "That is because they are childish." She is growing up waaaaaay to fast.

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On 8/28/2019 at 12:40 PM, Epictetus said:

 

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

It is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend.

So kindness is a sort of faith, gleaned from scouring endless fields of desolation.  Maybe so.  I hope not.

Bulgakov

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It's taking everything in me to stay in this world today.  There's no logical reason.  The rest of this will be a horror story where I will always be just out of reach from my dreams.  My dreams are the dragon I will never catch.  How does the rest of this go?  I fight through madness and sadness until either my brain can't take anymore of this or I can't.  My brain goes away for good or I do.  There is no happy ending to this.

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