Ahhhhh poor dears. You need a break from the harsh world with all its thorny difficulties.

So this thread is for you. For all of us. To practice being gentle, warm, sunshiny beings.

Not doing... Just being...

Backrubs. Puppies. Soft felt. Flugelhorns. Soft kisses.

Carrying cubs in carefully non-crushing jaws.

Barney. Forget those others of his kind. Purple. Non-scaley bundle of love lizard.

Balloons. Light winds.

Slow motion. Light creaking sounds from dry decks.

You've done your duty. You have been the adult. Now be the kid. Feel Life's caress.

Let your lids get droopy. Your grip relax. Relax your jaw and streeeeetch. Long long stretches.

Let your content voice murmer in deep resonance without harsh accents or staccato sentences. Slow. Deep. Gurgeling. But not gargeling.

Yes my ch1ldren. That's right. You are good ch1ldren. The warm hand tousels your innocent angel heads.... specificaly the hair on the said angel heads.

All defensive mechanisms can be turned off. All your shields can come down. You are accepted here. You are welcome here.

Yeeesssss. Goooooooood. Quiiiiiiieeeeet. Reeleeeeeese. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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The Martian ambassador smiled a broad smile. See? First contact can be a breeze.

And he wasn't very scary looking. Looked just like us. Even sporting a reassuring sun tan.

No blast guns to be seen anywhere. No threatening large numbers. No sudden movements.

He came in peace. He truly came in peace.

His wife was charming. She started wearing a set of pearls around her neck. Pearls! Earth pearls. She looked like your semi-fashionable, if doty, next door friend's mom.

They were vegetarians. In fact they synthesized their food. So nothing living had to die.

Because they were so far advanced they could easily protect us. Nuture us. Advance us.

Gone were the days when we had to worry about our puny inability to protect ourselves from overly large meteors.

Yep they were the answer to virtually all our problems. In her purse the ambassador's wife carried a little device that looked like an inhaler which she used to suck the green house gases out of our atmosphere. Ending the issue of global warming for good. She did it in an offhand way while getting some lip gloss out to freshen up. Free of charge. Without even long, boring speeches announcing the great event.

Yep the ol' Earth was surely blessed to have such enlightened, noble creatures as neighbors...

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*considers ...*
{{battery.clamps}, (heated.iron), (boiling.pitch), (rack), (family.visitation), (parade.of.ex-wives), (hot.potato),(firing.squad), (hand.on.hotplate), (back.scratch.with.rose.stems) ... (ad.infinitum)}

(shrug)

(throws.drunken.Oden)

(smiles) Quote

*(throws.drunken.Oden)



Valfather spied his most famous son approaching the firth. He set off merrily toward him, donning a fisherman's form. A fleering grin starting to spread on his old, crafty features.

But then stopped.

He simply watched his son unobserved now making his way with difficulty toward crossing. Saw how he flinched when he started little water snakes back to their homes beneath ripples. And the One-Eyed One thought about the large snake, that must come for his son, and what that would make him feel just before the end...

A brief thought. In the Dark One's mind. Before it returned to schemes, warriors, women, and riddles. But he did not fleer his son over the firth that day...



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He picked up the first test tube with his slightly trembling fingers. Clear liquid, nonviscous, rapidly followed his movements, as he slowly walked the test tube across to the window. The window three stories up from a dark, empty alleyway.

Sweat beaded up on every square inch of his forehead as he pondered what to do next. No time for an elegant plan. A quick solution only.

He removed a shoe. Then a sock. He placed that one test tube, stopped with stopper, wrapped in athletic sock, cushioned in jogging shoe on the window sill. He tied a loose slip knot on laces and slowly slid the shoe down a bit below the sill. As far as the laces would allow.

He then let go and dove for the floor.

There were a few seconds of silence. The sound of a shoe hitting pavement. Then... quiet.

He relaxed. OK he now had a procedure.

He repeated it three times. Having to briefly leave the room on a shoe hunt.

He sat down with his back against a wall and relaxed now. Almost home free.

That's when he heard it. The sound of nails on pavement. He lept up and rapidly scanned the room for any aid. Perfect, a half eaten sub, still on counter top. He ran to the window, waved the sub, shouting, and then threw it down into the alleyway. A ragged mutt cautiously approached it where it lay, sniffed it, and then carried it off.

He again sank down with back against wall, this time taking out of suit pocket a flask of whiskey, as a kind of victory toast. He listened to the night sounds. Enjoying them. Some kid was learning to play the violin. Was just starting a scale. He didn't mind those scratchy sounds from the beginner. He remembered with fondness his own days of musical study. He found himself softly singing out the notes as the scale was executed. C D E F

He started to mouth "G" ....

* KABOOM *






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Bright sunny day.... Beach all to herself...

The air was so still. Just the quiet reassuring sound of the waves lightly falling on the sand

Warm. Drowsy. She felt now a part of the universe, fitting in so snugly like a jigsaw into the Great Scheme of Things.

Her toes wriggled now and then happily in dry, fine grained sand. She let heavy eyelids droop and shut. And just listened to the distant waves. And just felt the faint touches of breeze hints on her soft, tanned skin.

Safe. Warm. At peace. Needing nothing. Wanting nothing. Just wanting the moment to go on and on and on. Her tired soul... she could feel it healing. Aches disappearing. Cares evaporating. Beauty gathering.... within, without, condensing...

Then she heard something faint but odd. A kind of rattling, combined with a kind of clicking.

She opened one eye slowly and scanned azimuthally over the sand. Nothing there. Just sand. Some stones. The ocean very distant.

She fell quickly back into her semi-trance state. It might of been hours before she became aware once again of that sound. A bit louder. A bit nearer.

Again she opened one eye. She scanned around her perimeter. Nothing. Sand. Some stones. Sand. More sand. Stones? They were nearer now. She was sure of it.

Oh damn it. She wasn't about to get up to go check on some stones. But she did carefully record their distance from her and their angle. If 0 were the line to the ocean and to the right were positive. They were +40 degrees or so and maybe 30 feet away.

She shut her eyes and once again went semi-conscious for some ungaugable time. Again it was the sound that woke her from trance. She started her scan at +40 this time and was more than a little surprised to find that there were no stones in that direction. She did a quick scan and rapidly found that they were now -65 degrees and 15 feet away.

This naturally upset her greatly. But she refused, absolutely refused, to surrender all the progress she'd made to get up and check on those stones. It would be just what THEY wanted. No, she didn't really think there was a THEY. She used that mental way of wording things as a kind of deliberate mental relaxation joke. To remind herself that she was on the top of the food chain, that silly beliefs in devious natural spirits were a thing of the shameful past, and that she really craved, wanted, and needed relaxation.

So with that she dug in mentally and a little literally, with her toes, and drove all thoughts out of her mind but her trance.

And that's what made it so easy to capture her you see. To rush up and secure her with their thread. For those were not rocks but clams. They have risen again! No longer content to hide their burly legs in the sand. No longer playing the waiting game.

You cannot outrun them because... oh man do CLAMS GOT LEGS!

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Susan dressed herself gayly this bright Sunday afternoon. Pink cowboy hat. Polka-dot blouse. Jams, you know, long shorts with stripes. Orange tennis shoes. Striped tights: bumblebee. Extra large sunglasses with insect eye overlay.

She then went out into the poppy fields to pick flowers. Parking her hot pink Cabriolet just off the pavement.

She skipped as she picked. She sang softly as she picked. Not even thinking about it. "Divorced Beheaded Died... Divorced Beheaded Survived" When she realized what she was singing she quickly 4ced herself to whistle instead. And tho no impartial observer could quite identify the warbly tune she produced, if she were a journal writer, she no doubt would record "And I was whistling 32nd Street Melody"

And so it went. (pick) (rustle rustle) (frwweeet fwoooooot) (pick) (rustle rustle) (fweeet fweeeeee fweeeeeeeee fwee fwwww fweeeeoooot) (pick) (pick)

Her basket grew more and more full of bright flowers.

Her tights a little more frayed from brambles.

Her cheeks a little more colored from the sun.

But something happened during her next swoop through the flowers. An impartial observer had better not have become too relaxed because it happened so quickly...

She bent down to pick her next flower. But then an orange colored, odd looking, LSOH evoking growth shot out a couple green fronds and , what other way is there to say it? Picked her.

She disappeared into the plant's center... her basket of flowers falling by some chance right side up. Nothing remained of her clothes but a pink cowboy hat and the insect eye sunglasses.

The police never did figure it out. I recommend you do not tell them. It would only upset them I think. Just make sure your friends and relatives take more care when they skip lightly through the flowers.



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Too often, perhaps in the name of sensationalism, or to keep to some hidden agenda, we do not offer the complement to a tale. We describe a horrible disaster, hiding no detail, but merely let it function as a cautionary tale. Never showing a positive example of a way of dealing with an oftentimes easily managed difficulty. Is it not also true of social novels? That are so good at describing an injustice but poor at offering solutions?

So consider Frederick's preparations on another Sunday afternoon. His dress in some ways was similar. He sported tights. Which were excellent for dealing with the brambles while allowing freedom of movement. He also wore a hat, broad brimmed, and a kind of camoflage greenish brown. He carried a basket. Weighted a little on the bottom to keep it always right side up when dropped. He wore tennis shoes, fantastic for mobility, but of that same camoflage green.

He parked far away from the flower field, way down the paved road, and marched up the center of the road to reach its general neighborhood. On his back he rested a quarter staff. In his belt he wore a bowie knife.

Though he went out alone, he benefitted from being a member of a kind of secret brotherhood. We'd be tempted to call him a monk because we have no other word in our language to describe him. But he wasn't the follower of some religious figure. He was just in a quietly benevolent league who possessed and were good at acquiring more, secrets. The kind of secrets that they felt were too dangerous for local authorities to manage properly.

His purpose this day was to pick flowers. A pursuit he regarded as excellent for developing his gentle side. The fact that he would have to battle that same beast that took Susan was just an exciting fringe benefit.

He made sure to stretch fully and to focus his mind before he entered the poppy field.

Oh it was a little unfair. The monster plant species had not yet developed the ability to eat full grown men. Women it could just manage. They were a little lighter. Had less fat. Lighter bones. Oh give the species a few more thousand years and it was sure to manage it. These things are just a matter of time. Boys were easily eaten. And much more common food than little girls. They had all the wrong tendencies. Reckless, thoughtless, kind of dim. But a man was a disaster for these plants, an educated well prepared man, because the best the plant could do was survive and this outcome was very , very , unlikely.

So our Fred worked through the fields. A warm easy expression on his face. Filling the basket. Every now and then freezing and cocking his head a bit to try to catch an ambush attack shortly before it went off. He thought merrily to himself how fortunate it was they had not yet figured out how to team up on their victims. Alone they were so easy to detect and to overcome.

Finally it came. Fred's basket floated to the ground and his quarter staff whickered into position just as a couple of green fronds jetted out of the undergrowth trying to hook him hard. With two lightening quick flicks he knocked them wide and he then moved in much closer. It was a fast, fast action fight. Fronds flailing. Quarter staff hissing through air. Finally he was in close enough to use the bowie knife. Then it was just a matter of some well placed thrusts before our champion had himself a great new trophy.

Man once again triumphant over his environment! Plant center hoisted high on quarter staff! Susan's old tennis shoe, discovered in plant belly, tucked away for her relatives in his belt.

Now as he marched back to his car and a well deserved rum, he allowed himself the luxury of singing a victory march chorus. The words not recorded in the histories.

His gentler side having been developed more fully by the success of his flower gathering expedition.





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Time...

Distance...

Perspective...

These are things that make the blood cool and the mind to come alive. They make the heart feel and the conscience's whisper audible.

Rationalizations fall away. Confessions surface. The world pauses and looks for change.

If in this gap a solution, well crafted and complete, appealing to a bright receptive mind, exists and is captured in some coherent fashion - real change, real progress, can be made.

The True Reformer, who seeks change without reward, quietly works with thoughts and ideas, culling and crafting, while the streets churn with dissent. Even with this focus, this noble motivation, and with the luck to succeed in his design despite the world's wildness... he will fail to achieve perfection in his argument. Future generations will see his errors clearly and avoid them easily. But in his time, in his place, the result of his long labor will be fresh, new, and breathtakingly revolutionary.

Leaders respond to and exploit such fundamental forces. They step out ahead of a trend they did not create. The intellectual potential of a population, developed in a building process over centuries, is the true constructor of the channels that the ambitious and opportunistic move through on their personal journeys.

If you look for it you should be able to feel this motor running. You should feel the excitement of your time. If you can't, when trying sincerely, then you should be suspicious and wonder if something, some terrible alien cause, is operating to derail the drive of your time...

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The retriever... laps his tongue in the pond...

ripples spread outwards... outwards... outwards...

They trip a 0.35 mm buoy...

It begins to strobe... strobe... strobe... strobe...

The hound cocks his head to side... for he has heard a tiny underwater grate open...

And then shut...

Minnows scatter as the depths are awakened with:

ping.........................ping...................ping.................ping...........


The dog is fascinated for he now sees a shape deep and coming fast for him....

He forgets he can run...

A periscope breaks surface... Plowing fast through pond water....

A missile... no bigger than a coke bottle... but nearly the size of the sub blasts through the surface of the water...

And...

Once again the pond is quiet...

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Now it is Affirmation time my dears.

You are a good person.

You are fun to be around.

Many people, normal people, like you.

You work harder than they deserve.

You are generous.

You are patriotic without being a fanatic.

You are wise.

Your breath is just fine.

Your house is as clean as can possibly be expected from someone so important

Though life has its ups and downs, a winner like you can expect mostly good things.

You are handsome / beautiful.

You are graceful.

You can be left alone in an empty room with a valuable diamond, sexy unconscious member of the opposite sex, chocolate cake, ferrari with keys in ignition.


Now go out there and do all that you do so well....


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Now it is Affirmation time my dears.

You are a good person.

You are fun to be around.

Many people, normal people, like you.

You work harder than they deserve.

You are generous.

You are patriotic without being a fanatic.

You are wise.

Your breath is just fine.

Your house is as clean as can possibly be expected from someone so important

Though life has its ups and downs, a winner like you can expect mostly good things.

You are handsome / beautiful.

You are graceful.

You can be left alone in an empty room with a valuable diamond, sexy unconscious member of the opposite sex, chocolate cake, ferrari with keys in ignition.


Now go out there and do all that you do so well....





... Jus' not sure 'bout the cocklate cake Duds...
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... Jus' not sure 'bout the cocklate cake Duds...




I believe in you...

Remember the having... Remember the having...

Forget the eating... Forget the eating...

As true now... as ever was or ever will be...

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When any motion is too large it causes nonlinearities to occur. Gentle motion, by constrast is the realm of Simple Harmonic Motion. Reassuring. Linear. Repetitive. Non-chaotic.

Life itself balances on the edge of destruction it is true. But it does so in a gentle part of the galaxy. There are no black holes anywhere near us. Space is relatively unbent in our hood. No hordes of marauding quasars threaten us. No pulsar death rays strobe through us.

We have been left alone to develop with the minimum of stress, the maximum of peace, from external forces at least. Even our orbit is that just right speed of a leisurely stroll around the sun instead of a madcap dash like Mercury's or a tedious plod like poor, cold, maligned Pluto.

Oh why then, why oh why must you rush around so? Always at each other's throats? In constant battle with your perceived competitors? You can't even keep yourself still during a red light as we've often remarked. How did this unusual state come to be in you?

Can you go to a coffee shop without the phone jangling in your ear? Can you make a single sentence without some acronym or phrase saving gesture. When was the last time you really let your words slowly spill out of your languid mouth in a drawl, a twang, a long, lazy loll?

Madness. Vanity. Chasing after the wind.

Right now you know I am leaning back in my cozy little place. Strumming a guitar. The whole of the universe in harmony with me. Each note I make, hear, and savor distinctly... running my fingers with feeling over the strings. Rich wood sounds. From a well crafted instrument. I can feel the odd harmonics waft and wend on the light breeze that I feel on my tanned skin. For you know, the sun must kiss us a little for us to feel to our fullest.

Do I ramble? Of course I do. That is part of it. The phone rang for maybe thirty minutes just now and I barely heard it. Certainly didn't answer it. But I savored the nonanswering of it fully each time it made its jangling intrusion into my lair.

Be for a while. Don't do. Feel. Let insight enter through the back door. Let your mind bend flat like the space in which it exists...





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(strum strum)

Oh she wasn't the leaving kiiiiiiiiiiiiind

And I shor' loved her hot behiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind.

Whooooooooo Neeeeeellllllliiiiiiiiiiieeeeee gonna blow mah poor ol' miiiiiiiiiind

(strum strum strum)

Her draaaaaaaaays was toooooournnnnnnn

Her smiiiiiiiiile waaaaaaaaas woooooooooorn

Oh wha, O wha was we booooooooooooorn?

(strum strum strum )

Chi yiiiii yiiiii yiiiiiiiii!

The Apache did opiiiiiiiiiiiiiine

While we drank red red wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine

(strum strummmie strummie strum)

Oh where will weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee goooooooo?

Not to the Pochinooooooos, no no noooooooooo

And not to ol' Fort Geeeeeeeeeeronimoooooooooooooo, oh nooooooo.

(strum strum strum )

Nelllie.... Neeeeyahleeeleeleee oh darling Nellie puhleeeze jeez jeez

Don't make me go to mah kneees.

Lovin' you ain't no breeeeeeeze

(strum.... strum strum strummie)

Just be and don't go pleaaaaaaaase

Just bay and doona go lassie puleeeeeese

Oh park it heeeeeeyarh and don't go AWOL missie puuuuuuhuhuhuh puhlllllleyeeeeeeeese!!!!!!!

(strum strummie strummie strummmie strum strum strumm) Quote

And do not fail to consider the Snake Proverb, here recorded in one of the few surviving Apachelatin histories:

adiK'yi, ooi'idkaadan'ayi shee'izhshee't'yi daanaaa'indiishgoyi aadaabizyi 'eh'kyi eedchaagot'yi a'doobiyi.

'heeIyayi ntsaayi 'eeyi tan'naa'ayi adi'Kyi Shashyi isKaa'dadaa'ayi jiDoodaayeesdan'ayi.



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Johnny Moon: Maybe here... here... with the... Apaches......... I can... escape.... my evil... twin..... who is.... the... White...... Comanche.... and... finally..... find......... peace.

Chief: iib'isikiyi gibiyiyi kiyi!

Johnny Moon: That........... is....... right..............

Chief: tibishi'i'yi p'i'k'y'yi to'ca'i'b'ps'kiyi aaciaiyi!

Johnny Moon: I know... I... know... But... it was not me...... it... was... my evil.... twin. Damn.... you.... White.... Comanche..... wherever you are.

Martha: Oh Johnny, you gotta get me outta this jam. I love you!

Johnny Moon: It... can.. not.... be.... helped........ I must fight Notah.... fight him.... in three.... days..... in the center.... of this.... village. And end... this scourge.... we call:.......... the White..... Comanche!.......

(bum dish de dish dish de dash waaaaaaaa waaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaah)



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Does anyone read this inane drivel? Quote

Does anyone read this inane drivel?

yes Jeffie 263 views to hmmm 18 posts ... about twice the usual ratio of views to posts ... i read Holmes (Sherlock) long before anyone lectured about methods of concealment long before we had a television to see it enacted, before we had the ready to sit in a theater and watch it


'best place to hide a valuable thing is in open sight'


think 'brain' in this case my dear Watson ...


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yes Jeffie 263 views to hmmm 18 posts ... about twice the usual ratio of views to posts


Sure Amanda, the site records the number of views, but it does not, of course, record the number of people who have actually read the posts. I click on the thread, and all threads in which I am not interested, simply to change the "unread" indication to "read"


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