Overcoming Bloglessness


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What the?

While doing some domestic dusting on the last day of windows wide open,  I recognized neighbor boy voices outside. The little guys.

One boy said, “What the?”

The other boy said, “I know, right?”

That was all they said. I admired their telepathic powers; their oneness.  I wondered what they’d seen that was worthy of a “What the?”

Dusting the windowsill, I saw the pair: crew cut boys on shining bikes, their little legs just a-goin’ and a-goin’.  They flew down the gravel road without another word.

Looking about for some kind of “What the?” I saw nothing.   No wildlife in the hayfields,  no vehicles, no strangers, nothing dead on the road, birdless blue sky.

Nada.

Just two boys on bikes, saying what the big kids say.

Daily PromptCounting Voices.


9 Comments

Dildon’t

Dictionary, Shmictionary.

Mom, you’re such a dildo!

That was a jaw-dropping moment. She must’ve heard kids saying dildo at school, but she was only seven. She didn’t know what it meant. She thought she was saying something like do-do or weirdo or maybe even dill-hole, which would have been shocking too, but not as memorable as dildo.

That reminds me of those socks I bought my son when he was about eight. Safe Sox. They had a secret little pocket where, I thought, he could keep his lunch money.
What a surprise when he discovered the condom inside the secret sock pocket on Christmas morning.
Safe Sox.
Now I get it.

Signs

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This is a sign of a religious fanatic.

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He’s probably a nice man; just a little crazy for god and signs and crosses. His ranch is decorated with signs and crosses and he’s provided signs and banners to any yard or barn or business that will post one. Magnets too, for Christian cars. The valley is littered with God’s Ten.

Mr. Klevmoen hopes these signs will save somebody from hell’s eternal flames. He hopes god will look down and smile when he sees the god park. He wants everyone to see how much he loves god.

It’s Free Speech. But it’s ugly. Religious and non-religious people have complained, but Klevmoen is not in violation of any sign ordinances. In fact, these billboards aren’t even considered signs, by the county’s definition, because they’re not selling something. That’s right. Religious exemption. Because god loves cheesy graphics.

What if Secular Park was right across the street? The words of Ingersoll, Stanton, Paine and the forefathers, writ large. Better graphics; more pleasing to the eye. Landscaping.

I can see no reason, absolutely none, why women have clung to the doom of the gods. I cannot understand why they have not rebelled.

Voltairine de Cleyre 1896

I’d like to see that. Of course, it’d be vandalized right away.

Blown to smithereens, probably.

http://www.flatheadnewsgroup.com/hungryhorsenews/religious-park-is-ok-state-county-say/article_b1d6cc92-22f6-11e4-8339-001a4bcf887a.html

Signs

Ready, Set, Done.

Signs

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Weekly Photo Challenge
This week, publish an image of a sign — from the signs you encounter on the street to more personal, less obvious signs that hold meaning for you.  via Signs.

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This is a sign you’re in bear country: locks inside and outside the outhouse door.

flowers

This is a sign, in lieu of flowers.

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This is a sign of an elaborate ceremony, possibly a funeral for one beloved Daisy, possibly a goldfish.

Show and Tell

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A Rock

I brought this cool rock for show and tell. It looks like a petrified dinosaur heart wrapped in blood vessels and bands of muscle tissue.
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How do you suppose it was formed?  Anybody?  Buehler?

I want this rock. Next time we go fishing, I’m going to try to catch it. It’s heavy, but I’m sure it’s pickupable. I think I can pack it out, a mile or so from the river to the truck.
I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

But, if I can’t, I’ll say,  It would be selfish, to take that rock away from the river and keep it all to myself.

 

Shrooms

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Coprinus comatus

Here’s a little patch of shaggy manes, also called lawyer’s wig or shaggy ink cap. Mr. Raven calls them pisshrooms, claiming they grow wherever somebody went. They’re edible before they get inky, but they don’t keep well. You’ve got to cook ‘em right away.

A Jury of Crows

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I was delighted to see crows gathered up in the field. I refuse to call it a murder. I like jury. A jury of crows.

 

Yesterday’s Daily PromptReady, Set, Done. Our weekly free-write is back: take ten minutes — no pauses! — to write about anything, unfiltered and unedited. You can then publish the post as-is, or edit a bit first — your call.


10 Comments

Wonder

Daily PromptVerbal Confirmation.
To be, to have, to think, to move — which of these verbs is the one you feel most connected to? Or is there another verb that characterizes you better?

Verb schmerb! Are you guys stoned? Well, maybe you should be! I’ve never felt connected to a verb. That’s weird.
But, okay; if I must characterize myself with a verb, I choose

wonder

I’ve always been a wonderer.

I wonder at the beauty of nature.
I wonder why my hens won’t eat worms.
I wonder where the ravens are.
I wonder if statements of wonder should have question marks.
I wonder how people make themselves believe crazy shit.
I wonder if I’m loved.
I wonder what’s over there.
I wonder how they did that.
I wonder why the washing machine always turns one sleeve of my husband’s shirts inside-out.
I wonder what you’re thinking.
I wonder why foreign languages assign gender to inanimate objects.
I wonder how non-believer brains differ from believer brains.
I wonder where the kidnapped girls are.
I wonder who my granddaughters will grow up to be.
I wonder what percentage of atheists are left handed.
I wonder how people can stand Rush Limbaugh and cilantro.
I wonder if I could hike to the top of that mountain.
I wonder if this is enough.

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