Do They Know It's Christmastime At All?
Out in the deep woods the holidays come and go and no one decorates or celebrates. It's all about seasons out here, the angle of the sun, the rainfall, the migrations of animals, transformations in damp cocoons, seeds sprout up toward the sky, leaves blanketing the ground. Here we are our own decoration, and we don't number the days or remember the past. Out in the deep woods no one knows their birthday and there's always plenty of parking, for what it's worth.What does survival of the fittest mean in the mall or on the telephone? Someone once asked me if we'd evolve more fingers for typing, sitting clueless at the keyboard, drinking a green tea and eating

Again, Thank You
You know, I've never properly thanked you people for the difference you've made in my life. When I first started blogging, I was a little messed up. Like a lot of people, I started this blog mainly in the hopes of meeting people on the Internet, arranging meetings with them in person, and then murdering them. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.Now that I know you, though, and I see what great people you are, I realize that I could never, and would never want to, hurt any of you. I've realized over the past few years that my ruse has become my reality. I have truly become this character that I created to fool all of you.So, thank you. You've

How I Feel. Also the CEWQOTDQ.
Today is one of those days in the midst of funk when I feel as though a load of lightness has been heaped on top of my ponderous burdensome heaviness. The heaviness is there, but lightness was piled on above it. The net result is a ponderous lightness of spirit, like hippos on their tip-toes, like elephants filled with helium, floating dangerously around the room, bumping into things, smiling nervously. I am a happy wreck today, enjoying the warmth of my life on fire. Even my metaphors have mixed feelings about everything. I'm as happy as the Hog of the Month at the slaughter house, prancing proudly with my blue ribbon through the chute to the sausage barn. If I had wings I'd f

The Mountain and the Fire
There are many paths to the fire around which we sit, telling everything we've seen, everything we've learned. Life starts at the top of the mountain and plummets downward, rough and tumble. If you can resist the urge to turn and climb up again you may not die scrambling in futility on the craggy cliffs. If you can turn and find a path through the wilderness you will arrive, at length, at the fire. Here all are welcome, bewildered and suspicious to have apparently arrived. Some wander away, looking for the mountain again, straining to see it in the dusky distance.When you die we throw you into the fire to keep it going, a sacrifice to the wilderness of life. Some s

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Today, a bit of fiction:The wind blew warm into the little downtown bohemian bourgeois cafe when the man opened the door. The scent of strong coffee from inside mixed unpleasantly with the aroma of the minty sage in the decorative garden beds beside the door and he winced slightly, wrinkling the stiff skin around his dark eyes. None of the customers noticed him much as he lumbered in, glancing furtively at all the faces, and wandered from the front to the back of the place, meandering here and there between the tables, chairs and the product shelves as if looking for someone or something. The young barista with the dark hair and the friendly smile, the one with t