darkness burned the mid-day sun it caused my spirit to weaken but i refused to patronize the local pub until happy hour
The power of the mind is an awesome thing. Sometimes it doesn't matter what something really is. What really matters is what your mind perceives it to be. Take for example the day I got a great buy on ribs. They were 45 cents a pound (remember my name is Old Grizz) and I bought about 20 lbs for the week end cook out. The normal price in those days was around 1.75 per lb so you know I got a great deal. But that is where the mind thing comes in. About half way home with the ribs I got to wondering why they were so cheap and of course my mind naturally got around to "horse meat". The more I thought about those ribs the more I could see some poor ass horse in a slaughter house. Naturally I threw the ribs out. If I had taken one bite I would have gagged. Fast forward to my life in the here and now. We just paid big bucks to have a new kitchen put in and my wife had to have "granite" counter tops. Fine by me. She chose the color, dark with some biege mixed in. Well the other night I was fixing a snack on the counter and I was attacked by ants. Seemed like millions of the little thugs and I couldn't see them. They blend with the counter top very nicely thank you. Of course I sprayed and sprayed and washed and washed and sent all their little bodie into the sewer. Now my problem is ants over mind...mine. I see ants evry time I go in the kitchen. My wife has never been so happy. I wash the dam counter at least 3 times every night and twice before my coffee in the morning. I can't get them out of my mind. God how I wish I was an Aardvark.
love is the flower you've got to let grow carry on tuesdays the cactus flower brings beauty of color to the brown arid desert it is nurtured by the love of the sun and the sweat of the morning dew a gift of nature and a child of god love is like that it too must be nurtured and fed it too will bring beauty to a wild desert
Sometimes when we have a great desire to go to a special place or do something we think would be special, we get ourselves into a great deal of trouble or at least the experience does not turn out the way we had hoped. I once tried to improve my writing by going to a writing work shop . I signed up for the following class. Writing 666 "Rhetoric" On the first day the wily old horned goat said to me, "Why are you here?" I replied, "I want to learn how to write. I want to be a great writer". Good, he said, "show me some of your...... Allusion, Alliteration, Amplification, Anacoluthon, Anadiplosis, and Analogy" Damn, I relied, I did not come here to learn magic, I want to be a writer. OK, he said as he got a little redder in the face, " Show me some..... Anaphora, Antanagoge, Antimetabole, Antiphrasis, Antithesis, and Apophasis" I replied. "I do not like scrabble, I only want to write." His eyes bulged and his voice got louder as he said , "Yes but I need to see something in Aporoia, Aposiopesis, Apostrophe, Appositive, Assonance, and Asendeton" Trivia is a game for nerds, I replied. I am serious about writing. His eyes got bigger, his horns grew longer but he took a deep breath and said, "If you are really serious at least demonstrate Catachresis, Chiasmus, Climax, Conduplicatio, Diacope, and Dirimens Copulatio" Now my eyes got bigger and my face grew red, Damn I said, "I may be able to do something with Climax and Copulatio, they both sound familiar." I thought he was going to choke on his tongue. He spat back at me, "Do not be crude, to write you need be able to Distinctio, Enthymeme, Enumeratio, Epanalepsis, Epistrophe, and Epithet" Cowering, I replied "But these, whatever they are, are not even in spell check "Spell Check?, he spewed, screw spell check. I am not teaching spell check, I am teaching Rhetoric. If you want to write your readers must hear Epizeuxis, Eponym, Exemplum, Expletive, Hyperbaton, and Hyperbole Don't be crude, I whimpered, I just want to write simple prose without using foul language. His tongue forked out at me and his mouth spewed fire, "Yes, but to write Prose, even simply, you must use Hypophora, Hypotaxis, Litotes, Metabasis, Metanioia,and Metaphor" OK, I replied "I know metaphor. I'll Metaphor." Now he was really mad. "Are you a total idiot, a complete moron"? "That is to simple. Good writing requires Metonymy, Onomatopoeia, Oxymoron, Parallelism, Parataxis, and Personification." I felt better, I finally recognized some of the words he was using, I said with a deep sigh of relief, "Now were getting somewhere. I can Personify an Oxymoron Parallelism and California has taught me a lot about Parataxis" He drooled and he blubbered as he said, "Do not be trite. In this class we require Paranthesis, Pleonasm, Polesyndeton, Procatalepsis, Rhetorical Question, and Scesis Onomation." Now I was totally lost and I got smart with him. "Now you are getting trite", I sassed. "you cannot be serious...Scesis Onomation? Your are, of course, joking. He nearly choked on his tongue as he gurgled, "Do not get smart with me you little imp. If you want me to help you, come up with some Sententia, Simile, Simploce, Synecdoche, Understatement, and Zeugma." I was really frustrated and I said, "I've got a great Understatement for you" "Good," he said, "let me hear it." I picked up my journal and said very quietly, "You can take your class and your rhetoric and go straight back down to hell." "The devil made me do it"
cradle, perfect and snare. 3 word wednesday
Cats in the cradle, the perfect snare.woven through the fingers of time. I drifted through the morning mist coming closer and closer. I knew she was there waiting for me. I could not resist. She enticed me. I knew she was poison and I would die, but I could not resist. I could only remember her body, how she felt, how she shook when we made love. One more time. Please, just give me one more time. She had been there for all eternity weaving her cradle. Weaving a perfect web of death. She knew I was coming. Her eyes burned the mist. I could feel their heat. I could feel their strength pulling me. My lust engulfed me. A damned eternity of lust, burning my loins, racking my body. It forced me towards her. I was sacrificing my eternal soul for lust. I knew it and I could not stop. I was almost there. I felt the heat of her body, sensed the rhythm of her hips. I could hear the sound of her heart throbbing wildly behind her heaving breasts. Her breath came in pants. I sensed her desire for death. It engulfed me like a web. I had betrayed her. She had waited an eternity for revenge. I was so near I could feel her breath through the mist. Her cradle was perfect A snare of eternal revenge. I had to touch her, feel her one last time. She knew I couldn't stop. I reached out, felt her arm. She gasped, shuddered, the excitement of revenge gripping her. Centuries of hate erupted within her. Her heart exploded, her revenge lost. An eternity of planning, building her cradle of deceit, setting her snare, all lost in a heart beat. My lust released me. I was free. I had won..or.. I had lost
Old Grizz is giving "a story in 58 words" a try"Memories" the music moved her soul her soul moved her body her hips swayed with the music her breast moved in rhythm he watched her from a distance a lustful look burned the night air the memories of youth returned an old desire burned in his groin dam, he thought, it would be nice to be young again
idea by "Surface Tension" - thom g
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life...... is a thought that deeply troubles me. Who else could be a hero in my life? Does my life have any heroes? I am certainly not a hero by any imagination of the word, but I could be a hero of my own life. I could be if I could overcome my main weakness...procrastination. I'm sure it's not to late. I just have to get started. I'll do that tomorrow. Right now I have to take a nap.
I needed a plan. I needed something to help me. I knew I could not do it alone. I had tried it before and one time I almost succeeded but in the stretch run I had faltered. I had caved in to stupidity. I stood there looking at them laying on the table. One little pack of cigarettes. One big pack of death. I was alone, feeling sorry for myself. I do not remember why I was depressed. It was probably because I was alone. We all go through ups and downs in our lives and most of the time it is just because of small mood swings and mean nothing at all. On that evening I was looking at the cigarettes that my brother had left on the coffee table and I wondered what would one taste like? I had not smoked one in nine months. I had kicked the habit. I had beat them. But I decided to take a drag to remind me how bad they tasted and I did. Unfortunately for me, that drag was the best smoke I ever sucked in. I had not really kicked the habit. The next day I was back to smoking 2 packs a day. Fast forward to ten years later. I wanted to quit. Hell, I thought, it isn't hard to quit smoking. I quit 4 or 5 times a day. The hard part is staying quit. Now this is where the plan comes in. A plan to help me stay quit. I finally devised my plan. It was simple, really simple and some of you are going think that it was stupid, really, really stupid. But as stupid as it may sound to you, it worked for me. My plan...."cigarette procrastination". Yep that is it..."cigarette procrastination". I wouldn't quit. I would just not have another cigarette until I retired. Does that sound stupid? I don't know, but I am really serious, it worked for me. The thought of never having another cigarette was a lot easier to take. In my mind, I didn't quit, I was just putting it off until another day. That was thirty years ago and I still smoke but I am waiting on that next cigarette until the day I retire. Yes 30 years of "cigarette procrastination". I know that when I smoke that next cigarette I will be hooked again. Maybe that is why I am 70 and still working.
"Dream on, for dreams are Sweet." They are needed to mend your soul. Do not run from your dreams. They are meant to cleanse your body of the unneeded torments your soul goes through. When the guilt of the day racks your body at night, your soul must cleanse them. Even the nightmares are sweet because they are a harbinger of your soul being cleansed of the guilt. Take the "Dream Catcher". Bless it with your God and it will protect you at night. It will catch your dreams and your soul will be cleansed and pure, ready to begin a new day. The old Indian did not smile. His eyes were black as polished ebony. They had the depth of a mountain pool and as I looked into them I felt the reflection of my soul looking back at me. My body seemed be more erect, my heart felt younger and there seemed to be a heavy burden lifted from my mind. I felt pure and cleansed as if I had just been forgiven of all my sins. He never blinked and I knew I was looking into the eyes of all men's souls. "You have been blessed my son, " he whispered. "You have been allowed to see into the eyes of God." You do not waver, you believe. "Dream on, for Dreams are Sweet"
As is obvious from my blog name and my writing, I am no spring chicken. In my blog profile it states tha I am 517 years old and was born in the year of the rat. Awesome I thought, that fits. I put 1492 as my birth year because I am a wise ass. Just to get the record straight I turned 70 this year and I never wrote a lick until a year and a half ago. I never dreamed of being a great writer. I never thought I had any talent for writing. I never intended to write until a friend invited me to a class called "Journaling for Older Adults". It is a class that helps you write your life story. I was interested because my dad didn't put anything in writing. Now he's gone and I don't know enough about him. I want my children to know who and what I am and was. So I went to the class and I was introduced to Amy Lusky-Barth, the instructor. I cannot begin to describe the positive influence she has had on me. I am not even going to try. I am going to lead you to her blog and let you read her wonderful writing. If you are in doubt as to whether what you have to say is important, then reading Amy is a must. I have her on my blog roll. (Purple Sage Post) However the post I would like you to read is on "Tuesdays with Amy" and is titled "I Owe it All to Kafka" I have no idea whether I am a writer. I will probably never be published, but because of Amy I will write and write and write. In fact I will indulge myself with writing. Thank you Amy Lusky-Barth
"Is there anybody there?" said the traveller, knocking on the moonlit doori opened my soul to him he listened to what I said he heard what I said he believed what I said i trusted him he did not lecture me he did not try to change me he accepted me i trusted him he was my friend
What? Not again? That's the 4th time this year. They're killing us. How did they get in? Drove through the overhead door? Damn. How much did they get? Them Sonsofbitches. All the jackets and the sewing machines. Insurance? No, they canceled us after the last burglary. We're screwed. How much? $30,000 to replace the jackets and the equipment? We'll have to use the house. Yes, we need the money or were out of business. I know it's our home but if we don't have a business we'll lose the home anyway. I'll call the bank. You go ahead and order the new machines and the jackets. And by the way I'm going to order that pistol, you know the one I looked at before, The 9MM automatic. Hell yes I can shoot. I qualified with a 45 in the service. If you can hit anything with that gun you can shoot any of em. Yes, I'll be careful. Hey what's all the police action on the freeway? Dead? Ran over by a semi? Good, I hope it's the Bastard that robbed us. Serve him right. Bitter, your damn rights I'm bitter. I'd like to kill those A-holes that robbed us. I'm going to wait her at night and take care of this once and for all. The Law? Our Law? The dumb asses that haven't caught anyone for the last three burglaries? Your Kidding? right? Human? What do you mean, I'm not human anymore? Shoot a kid over graffiti? I wouldn't do that. Would I? Compassion? For the dead guy? His family? Oh my God, you're right. I never even thought of his family. That's bad. Wow. I am bitter. I have no compassion, I am turning into something not human. Your right. I won't order the gun. No I don't want to kill some poor kid over a little graffiti. I think I'll have a talk with God. Maybe he can help me become human again.
I think everybody in the world has been stung. I can't prove it, but I'd bet my last $2 on it. Well, I suppose I would have to eliminate babies. However, once your up and walking, your going to get stung by one of those pesky buggers. If you are lucky, you won't be bitten by a Yellow Jacket. I wasn't. I mean I wasn't lucky. I was stung by the biggest Yellow Jacket in the western USA. At least I was sure it was the biggest. It looked like the biggest one to me. Now one of the important things about being stung is...""where did it get you"? Your hand? Your foot? I knew a guy who got stung on his " good time charley" when he was relieving himself on a hunting trip. That made for a lot of good jokes on that trip and a lot of trips after that. I had always been lucky with my bee stings. They were on the hand ,the foot, the legs or the arms. The places that hurt but didn't cause any major discomfort. But, the last one was a real bitch. I have hunted, fished and camped all of my life so you would think that I would have learned a few things. Well I have learned some things, but I did not learn about Wasps and Coke. While out camping last summer. I was enjoying a book, a fire and a coke in the late afternoon. My wife asked me to do something so I set the book and the coke down and did what she asked. When I returned to my place of solitude I took a nice big mouth full of the coke and the Yellow Jacket that was stealing it. I was lucky in that I did not swallow, but I did manage to make the Wasp mad and of course, before I could spit him and coke out, he let me have it. The only good thing thing about the whole incident was that it didn't get me in the throat. It got me on the inside of my cheek. For two days it hurt like hell and I looked and felt like I had an impacted tooth. Now I know that you should never leave an open soda can where a Wasp can lay claim to it. http://weekendwordsmith.blogspot.com/