More shorts
More shorts
In order to benefit in any way by reading my writings, each person would have to get inside my head. I think they don’t realize that they should hope there is no room.
We must steel ourselves against the inevitable onslaught of desire.
If you don’t believe in astrology, does that mean that you don’t have a sign?
If you don’t believe in Hell, does that mean that you’re not going there?
Same for Heaven.
(Note the capital “H’s”. Perhaps that means that I do believe. Or am afraid to be caught not believing, which would mean that I do believe in crime and punishment, an almighty, or Miss Kramer’s Rules of Capitalization.)
The ever-probing angst: like a heat seeking missile, it will find you.
Is being a tender and imaginative lover an indicator of good character? Intelligence? Wit? Or is it a skill that can be developed and cultivated, like playing the piano, or programming a computer? Or is it a gift, like perfect pitch? If not, what then?
Depending on your life-course, you may decide that happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Ahh…the unique way you do things that only you can do.
At least I assume it’s unique, having nothing to which to compare it.
The extravagant minimalist.
Moi.
[Get it?]
The Eternal Fabulous is not possible as it does not exist.
At least, not for as long as we’d like to the degree we would like.
The futility of the real.
What does love do? Makes one out of two without using glue.
How do you tell the difference between an artist and a patron?
By looking at their finger nails.
We’re used to seeing things we don’t understand.
A cryptologist and a symbologist got together.
You know what that means.
(I am not sure that I am the original author of this: but I have no idea where it came from, so in this case, I will accredit it to “Anonymous”, which allows for the possibility that it might have been me.)
Spiders make their webs of silk.
A surprising outcome of a natural occurrence from an unexpected source.
Fears manifest faster than anything. Just as one would fear.
We only make two mistakes with our children:
- We keep feeding them.
- We teach them to speak. They make us pay for these errors. And how.
Words I have come to hate, especially when used in a sentence.
Blessing
Blessings
Family
Journey
My two least favorite expressions:
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Have a nice day.”
The word “we” is gonna kill me.
As in: “We went to the movies”, “We are going to Florida”, “We had our friends over for a party.” We, us, our: the plural possessive is spirit-deadening, heart-wrenching and actually/physically/ear splittingly painful when I am not one of the we/us/our.
Is there armor to protect me from this death? Or at least an antidote?
Or must this anecdote be my consolation and savior? That’s the least/best I can hope for.
Q: Can mushrooms grow mold?
I Googled the answer: No.
I used to think that I would be totally devastated if the love of my life left me.
Now I think that I would be totally devastated if I lost my cell phone.
He did.
I did.
It wasn’t total devastation either time.
Only partial.
Largely partial.
My organizing principle is organizing.
If “organizing” is the organizing principle of my life, then “love” has been the disorganizing principle of my life.
I have never uttered aloud the words: “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
I once heard my father say it as a joke of some kind, but I have never said it. I have never confessed anything to anyone, and can’t imagine what sin I might have committed that would need to be confessed..
Perhaps THAT’S the sin.
I am old enough to remember when the seats on the subways were wicker.
And Vitas Gerulaitis. I am old enough to remember Vitas Gerulaitis.