A bromide that sets my teeth on edge is Everything Happens for a Reason. It's insensitive to use that phrase in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey, but it's because of this deadly storm that I'm thinking about why we tell ourselves the things we tell ourselves. If we say a sentence, do we understand the meaning? Do we believe the message that comes from an innocuous string of words? How do I process Everything Happens for a Reason after I've read this?
Semi-Daily Scribbles
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This is how I'll remember you: Crinkly-eyed smile (those were tears – don't lie) and flushed cheeks. Your demeanor changed from quietly serious to seriously exhilarated when you spoke of poking your stick into curious things. You floated on up toward the ceiling, I grabbed on to your cupid colored sleeve, and together we looked down upon the world we created without really trying (and yes, by then, I was the one who was crying.) You collect, I connect, and the dots form a nimbus to stave off the dark. -
you look like music
i favor the taste of blue
you
me
synesthetes*as she waited while her truck got gassed up during a pit stop on The Little Expedition to Find her Authentic Self
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Little Ghostly Dirt Girl encourages you to continue to shout into the void. The message may not always make sense, but it is received in ways beyond your limited ability to prognosticate. All you need to do is remain faithful to what's percolating in your belly. So you're searching for Truth and Beauty? Truth is the look on your friend's face when you ask, "Everyone has these thoughts about being held against her knowledge in a twisted psychosocial experiment where she's cruelly tested with sound scientific methods whereby all reactions of said subject are meticulously recorded for submission to an obscure, privately funded psychology quarterly, right?"Beauty is you when the void answers back.
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Hey Phil,
I don't care you are a forerunner on the Fake News front. Good on ya, I say. You made a few coins, picked up a loyal batch of readers, and pulled one over on those who thought they picked up a few IQ points reading your hinterland dispatches. Though I will never know you, I do know what it's
like inside a diseased mind. Truth is elusive, and can be 100% factual with a mere whiff of reality and a nice smile. Family and friends know you adhere to the loosest of rules when it comes to reporting on what's out there. My truth is: Your shittiest essays are better than what most best sellers peddle. Which brings me to the reason why I'm typing this:The person who doesn't understand your pretty writing has lost out on having her soul shredded. Little bloody striplets of organs and bone left on the nightstand. That, pal o' mine, is a sure sign you've figured out how to use your words.
Do what you do to pay the rent. I'm good.
Tess
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Ah
sweet, sweet irascible you! Discernment is in your DNA. And how those snobby pants fit you just right! But I got lessons to learn from you. Like love. THE YOUNG PERSON'S GAME. I'm not interested in being a young person, but understanding what the ticker wants = Life Goals. Purge and Release and Have Another Stab at It come the 21st. The thing about compartmentalizing, though? Just Can't Do It. Why should I? Life is One Big Ball. My daily Experience is all one long energy ribbon. This is consciousness lived by someone who is not fully (you put your left foot in, you put your left foot out) participating in The Plan. Perhaps being blissfully caught unaware at every turn is the meaning of ENLIGHTENMENT. Guess that's why I'm the neophyte and everything you do, in each moment that flickers by my one good eye, is imbued with magic. -
"You always ask me. But what about you? Why are you here?"
"For the paycheck. But seriously … I'm here to be me and shine a light in dark places. Like this office. Plus I'm a runner and need to learn how to do that surrender thing. Yeah, life lessons. To learn them so I can move on. That's why I'm here."
Or so the story goes.
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I got teary-eyed at work the other day. It caught me off-guard. Then I remembered 8/12 was coming up. It's not like you are ever far from my thoughts. That twinge of melancholia was a reminder of the day your Pa and I sent you off on your journey. I like to think your biological mother and Nado were on the other side to meet you. Likewise, I bet you and Maggie were the first pals Daisy saw when she followed your paw prints. May you all be happily chicken leggin' it in the sun, with the stray french fry or two conveniently dropped in front of you.
On other news from the earthly plane, the family pack now includes ginormous miniature schnauzer Chloe and a gentleman from Mississippi named Toby. Sure wish you were around to be a pack leader. That Chloe needs a firm, Mama Schnauzer influence to guide her. And Lily's in the hall closet right now because of thunder, snuggled up in the sheepskin blanket that still so very much smells like you.Ah girl, as always, it's hard not to cry when I type these yearly check-ins. You were, and shall remain, my Stinky Twinkie/spirit animal/furry burglar alarm.
One more thing before I sign off: This guy recently moved into the neighborhood. Say hello. You've both walked along the same shoreline.
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Darla's got everything she needs for The Little Expedition to Find her Authentic Self shoved inside her truck's glove box: a feather duster, this, and a blood glucose meter. Oh, and a joyous heart and an open mind. Speaking of which, she's already forgiven Ort for his comment that snark is no tone to take when offered constructive criticism (like his suggestion Darla return to building model tanks instead of making hearts out of garbage to sell down at the Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet.)But back to that sacred quest upon which Darla is ready to embark. She's on a mission to shine light on every dark soul she encounters (but mostly to catch the meaning of a recurring dream where she's crawling around underneath a desk.) Since the lighting is rather poor down there, all Darla sees is a pair of Birkenstocks. She's pretty sure she's naked, too, as she scuttles about on her hands and knees.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 