Category Archives: Humourous Essay

Political Satire, but, What if, or ‘Why not?’

[thoughts from    ~burning woman~    by Sha’Tara]

The creature I am about to describe here has earned itself many sobriquets over the recent years, months, even days and some are getting quite exotic. A few: (borrowed from  https://wolfessblog.wordpress.com/2018/12/12/to-the-end-of-the-loud-illiterate-pretender/

prictator, orangubrat, trumptard, dolt45, trumpussy, and my favourites, presidunce and Agolf Twitler. This set me to thinking about a fitting end to its presiduncy.

In a normal country (don’t worry, there aren’t any of these on this planet) the creature mentioned above, and I have to assume ya-all know by now what that is, wouldn’t be jailed, that’s too normal. Try to imagine the damage it could cause in a real people jail. I know that people in America seem quite unconcerned about the treatment of prisoners in the nation’s endless jail but there has to be a limit as to what helpless prisoners are exposed to.

No, definitely not a jail. It would be put in a zoo designed especially just for it.

The layout of the main retention area would be shaped like the oval office, naturally, we want it to believe it is still in its natural habitat after all.

McDooDoo and KFC would get the contracts to keep the creature fed.

It would be given a sturdy fake cell phone with tones on the buttons and a slobber-proof light-up screen so it could tweet at night.

It would be given stacks of monopoly money to fondle and some tough rubbery human-like dolls, child size and adult, with various coloration of non-white skin-like coverings so it could thrash them about when in a rage. It would also be given an over-sized golf driver to smash up the figures.  Part of the entertainment at this stage would be to hear its wild screams of, “Terrorist!  Rapist! Murderer! Fake refugee! Liar, Thief!”

There would, of course, be a large mud bath where it could go to cool off from the blistering sun where it would repeat some simple mantras like: “Climate change is fake news, fake news, fake news!!!!!” “MAGA, MAGA, MAGA, MAGA!!!!!” “Coal, coal, coal, oh so beautiful coal!!!!!” “Biggly, biggly, biggly, want more food!!!!!”

Near the visitor fence there would be a fake computer stand with a fake Mensa testing board that would ding loudly each time the creature pressed the very large, orange, *1000 POINTS!* button, at which in predictable Pavlovian response it would run to a small trap door where the big mac, large fries, Coke and fried chicken would appear to be ravenously gulped down .

Of the containment fencing, the south fence would be turned into a solid cement wall with these words engraved in it: “Mexico on the Other Side.” To drive the creature crazy (and for the additional entertainment value) there would be a hole in the wall just big enough to allow a human to crawl through and nothing available to plug the hole.

To keep the creature totally happy, if not deliriously so, there would be a full-sized mirror with the words in fake gold on top: PRESIDUNCE AGOLF TWITLER

With enough funding from amused patrons, the rest of the creature’s tribe could hopefully be housed in there also… 

I enjoy dreaming of great endings to otherwise pathetic dramas.

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What about Pastafarianism, then?

[thoughts from a bottle of wine, by Sha’Tara]

Well, all that writing and comments on religion, one side being those who ardently support the existence of God, one side being those who equally, ardently do not support the existence of God, was a lot of fun. It would be more fun if all of it wasn’t taken so darn seriously, but this is Earth, so I guess the proper expression here is: deal with it and get over it.

So… I think I have. I can’t be sure, but you will notice that at the very least, I’m thinking and that, again this being Earth, is no small feet… I mean feat. (I must have joined my earthworm at the glass of wine a bit soon, and stayed a bit too long, time will tell.) If that aside doesn’t make sense, either you did not read some of the comments, or, bless you, you had better things to do and then, yes, of course it does not make sense, it will not make sense and probably I can’t explain it either so it could make sense. Shall we move on, then?

Having thus overcome the terrible desire to engage, engage, engage, as if I were the captain of the Enterprise, and use up all my demagoguerite vocabulary on smoke and mirrors, I did some research about alternatives to, you know, Absolutely Certainty, and came up with the following. First, to avoid all errors, let’s start with a link. Links, as we all know, are the 21st Century’s Word of God. Links are The Truth. Without Links, no one is going anywhere and there is no salvation.

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Pastafarianism

What is Pastafarianism?

It’s the great and almighty atheist religion which teaches how the world was created by the flying spaghetti monster who happened to be drunk which thus explains why bad things happen. Pastafarians follow the church of the flying spaghetti monster and when they go to heaven they will enjoy a beer volcano and a stripper factory (which makes me wonder what’s in it for the ladies but let’s not quibble about small matters, it’s only eternity after all), however in hell the beer is stale and the strippers have VD! In pastafarian terms agnostics are known as spagnostics and all prayers must end with RAmen. September 19th is the national “talk like a pirate” day and the religions founder Bobby Henderson has published a “Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster”.

What attracted me to Pastafarianism – not saying I’m going to join, I don’t own a colander to wear at special functions and a veil or burka (or burqa or burqah) would definitely be frowned upon – were the very words of the Flying Spaghetti Monster Itself, specifically the eight “I’d really rather you didn’t” non-commandments, as brought to us by Its Prophet, Bobby Henderson (No, not that Bobby Henderson, the other one!)

The Sacred Eight I’d Really Rather you Didn’ts:

1)I’d really rather you didn’t act like a sanctimonious holier-than-thou ass when describing my noodly goodness. If some people don’t believe in me, that’s okay. Really, I’m not that vain. Besides, this isn’t about them so don’t change the subject.

2)I’d really rather you didn’t use my existence as a means to oppress, subjugate, punish, eviscerate, and/or, you know, be mean to others. I don’t require sacrifices, and purity is for drinking water, not people.

3)I’d really rather you didn’t judge people for the way they look, or how they dress, or the way they talk, or, well, just play nice, Okay? Oh, and get this into your thick heads: woman = person. man = person. Samey = Samey. One is not better than the other, unless we’re talking about fashion and I’m sorry, but I gave that to women and some guys who know the difference between teal and fuchsia.

4)I’d really rather you didn’t indulge in conduct that offends yourself, or your willing, consenting partner of legal age AND mental maturity. As for anyone who might object, I think the expression is go f*** yourself, unless they find that offensive in which case they can turn off the TV for once and go for a walk for a change.

5)I’d really rather you didn’t challenge the bigoted, misogynistic, hateful ideas of others on an empty stomach. Eat, then go after the b******s.

6)I’d really rather you didn’t build multi million-dollar churches/temples/mosques/shrines to my noodly goodness when the money could be better spent (take your pick):
Ending poverty
Curing diseases
Living in peace, loving with passion, and lowering the cost of cable. I might be a complex-carbohydrate omniscient being, but I enjoy the simple things in life. I ought to know. I AM the creator.

7)I’d really rather you didn’t go around telling people I talk to you. You’re not that interesting. Get over yourself. And I told you to love your fellow man, can’t you take a hint?

8)I’d really rather you didn’t do unto others as you would have them do unto you if you are into, um, stuff that uses a lot of leather/lubricant/Las Vegas. If the other person is into it, however (pursuant to #4), then have at it, take pictures, and for the love of Mike, wear a CONDOM! Honestly, it’s a piece of rubber. If I didn’t want it to feel good when you did it I would have added spikes, or something.

In the words of the flying spaghetti monster himself, (and written by Bobby Henderson, the creator of Pastafarianism)

There you have it. The best news of all is, you don’t have to be Italian to be a pastafarian. Or at least I don’t think so, I’m deducing, à la Sherlock Holmes (Yes, that Sherlock Holmes)

What did you expect, it’s Canada Day here, or so I’m told, and we all take that very, very seriously here, or so I’m told. I might hang out some laundry today. I hope it isn’t mistaken for a foreign flag and someone sends the RCMP to investigate. Nah, this is Canada. What flag? We keep changing our minds about that, and the national anthem also… Not to worry, some day we’ll get it right, or left, or leave it and join a Word Federation or something so that we can have social justice, equality and happiness when meeting a stranger.  I’d like that, even better than Pastafarianism.

 

 

On an Amazing Lighter Note

thoughts from ~burning woman~

I just realized that everyone who is a “follower” of a WordPress blog is an amazing person. I am not making that up, it shows up whenever I click on a blog’s “Follow” button.

Everyone, you say? One hundred percent amazing person, no exceptions? That’s, like, a bit hard to swallow. Could it be one of those lies so common in the world of advertising no one recognizes for the bullshit they are intended to convey while dissimulating it?

I can truthfully say that I’ve never considered myself amazing. Exceptional, perhaps, under certain conditions, and not always in a favourable way, but never amazing. Which of course makes me desperate to define what it means to be amazing, whether it’s a subjective concept, or if it has a core value. I’m going to have to look that up, definitely.

[Some time later] So I looked it up. Views on “amazingness” vary considerably but generally it is recognized that an amazing person is one who is special in usually positive ways. Most common: selflessness, caring, loving, understanding, generous, yet doesn’t let anyone walk all over her. A kind of Jesus/Gandhi/Mother Teresa/Superman/Wonder Woman person.

In other words, an amazing person is one who comes across as amazing in his/her relationship to others. The impression I got from my Internet search was that an amazing person is primarily a selfless individual. Thus I would take that as the core value of an amazing person.

I think we’d all like to be known as an amazing person now but I have a nagging suspicion that being a WordPress blog follower isn’t how to define amazing. I think it’s another one of those convenient lies to try to make the “clicker” think better of her/himself than they should.

Why? Well in layman’s terms it’s called having smoke blown up one’s ass. I’ve never liked having that procedure done to me as it tells me the smoke blower believes I’m a mark.

Opinions welcome.

Disclaimer 1: it is not my intent to use this exposé as promoting another of my cockamamie concepts that could save billions of lives, civilization and perhaps the planet itself, if not the universe. “Amazing” will not become one of my change agent themes. Sorry to disappoint on that score but one has to draw the line somewhere, even if it is in the sand, and at low tide.

Disclaimer 2: please do not take seriously what I poke humorously!

No More Accidents!

[off the cuff by  ~burning woman~ ]

(Sorry, the following just popped up as I was reading a new novel. Had to dump it before I could continue…)

I believe we can salvage our civilization if we decide to ban accidents. That’s a good way to start here. This is after all a tricky subject which would go down better with ginger ale and popcorn but this is a working session: no ginger ale and no popcorn, so sorry.

Let’s just say that Elan Mastai is correct, that everything born, everything invented, also bears its accident; invents its accidents. For example (says Elan) if you invent the car, you also invent the car accident. A plane, and you invent the plane crash. You see, it’s all quite not just logical, but simple. Who could argue that without the car it would be impossible to have a car accident? Who could argue that since the inception of the automobile there have been a lot of car accidents? See the relationships? Not rocket science, right?

The argument followed by Elan is simple enough. Before you put something “out there” for people or nature to make use of, if you are a conscientious person, you will calculate the number and effects of accidents your invention is going to invent or create. Before you decide to have a child you will certainly determine how many, and to what extent that child will have accidents or create accidents. If you can’t (or won’t) what does that say about your degree of responsibility to the polis? Proper checks and balances, folks. Don’t just throw something out there with the potential to harm itself and others.

Only if you take total responsibility can you expect to bring forth a properly functioning civilization. I expect I’ve gone beyond the point made by Elan (I cannot say since I’ve only just begun reading “All our Wrong Todays” which promises to be a fascinating read – it better be I have the attention span of a meteor when reading fiction, sort of like my love affairs, but that’s from another bed).

Oh yes, Elan Mastai is real, in this time line, that is. He did write “All our Wrong Todays” and it was indeed published recently, as recently as 2016. His first novel and it is about time travel, my favourite, well, almost. He’s a Canadian screen writer and novelist and lives practically next door to me, in Vancouver. Not convinced? Here’s one link: Website http://www.elanmastai.com

OK, I used Elan’s springboard but this isn’t a promo for Elan, well, it is but it isn’t if you know what I mean. If you don’t, just skip this part and come back to it later. Nobody but your smart phone, iPad and smart TV will know but they’ll only report you as far as GoodReads, Google and Amazon and of course the NSA so your privacy is totally guaranteed. Read the fine print.

Now then, to a properly designed civilization. I can’t go into all the ramifications of our philosophers, scientists, bankers, preachers, politicians, engineers, designers and makers of stuff like money and incense, including, of course, makers of babies, in throwing civilization in our faces without taking the time to define and calculate its load of accidents and then to correlate how all those accidents intersecting each other will affect the whole civilized fabric. I mean, woah! This is insane!

You do see how irresponsible these people have been, and continue to be, don’t you? Think. If there were no people, would there be crime? Would there be wars? Obviously defective people cause these mega problems and that’s like big. Should be obvious to the most obtuse. How can we procreate people who cause accidents without calculating the effects? Totally not cool. All these people, thinking things, saying things, doing things and none of them thinking about the particular effects? Particularly the creation of accidents?

By the way, let’s make sure we understand that “doing stupid things” is in the same category as accidents.

So we need to get serious. Engender only babies that will not have, or cause, accidents. Surely that’s totally doable otherwise we’re no better than gnats. Already you can see a huge improvement in our civilization in only a couple of generations. Only invent things that do not also invent their allotment of accidents. From accident prone, we move to accident-proof.

Remove the allotment, put up a big sign in at least 6500 languages stating that accidents are no longer allowed on planet earth. Pass a law. Do something! Make us proud of our civilization… for once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

America: Diversity versus Disparity

Some time back there was a tempest in the social media teapot. It came after his royal pudgy-fingered PG 13 (which at the White House means “Minimum Pussy Grabbing Age 13) President of These United States, declared certain races persona-non-grata in His Kingdom. Such nationalities and races didn’t fit the new profile being advertised as proper for the Kingdom’s expanding white supremacist swamp.

That, of course, wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened in the Kingdom but that was before social media so all can be excused for not being aware of it. After all America, and much of the rest of the planet, emerged from the Dark Ages to populate Facebook and imitators, spewing and spawning its collective BS as if it were the most precious substance in the universe. Who cares what happened in the Dark Ages before 2005?

Having got that out of the way, let’s get a bit more serious before the wine runs out.

During that tempest, the old cant that America was founded on diversity was brought out of retirement, dusted off and vigorously waved about to counter the Trumper King’s signing of the new Magna Carta handing out more power and money to his nobility and racist supporters alike.

The problem here isn’t what the Trumper King was doing. After all a King has absolute power and His Royal Self was demonstrating that fact, never to be forgotten.

The problem is the subsequent claim to said Kingdom being founded on diversity. Key word: founded.

A nation is never founded on ideals, that being the mission statement. Ideals are fine on a piece of paper protected by inch-thick glass but not beyond. Beyond it just means trouble.

Think of it like being comfortably ensconced in your favourite pew some Sunday morning while working out your moves for the golf course in the afternoon and suddenly, out of the blue (literally speaking) Jesus appears, nudges the preacher gently out of the way and takes over the pulpit. General consternation and cries of “No! No, no, no! That’s not how it works. Whoa! You can’t be here, you’re supposed to be in heaven where you can’t cause trouble. You’re outta here, buddy! Somebody, shut the sound system down, throw him out!”

That’s the problem with idols such as divinities and belief systems and constitutions. They’re only good as long as they support the status quo and if they don’t, then they remain securely under glass or on stained glass. You can’t drag them out into the open and use them. That’s not allowed, not without properly authorized “interpreters.”

The idea that America is founded on diversity is false. America is entirely founded on disparity. For those who don’t have a dictionary of synonyms, diversity is not a synonym for disparity. You can take my word for that.

Certainly it cannot be disputed that America’s social landscape consists of much diversity. The history is there and descendants of diverse nationalities or races are the people who make up the population of America. But to go from “consists of” to “founded upon” is a leap off the proverbial cliff. It is totally misleading.

What controls and shapes America is not the diversity of the many races, or minorities representative of such races, but the disparity that exists between its social strata. That is what it is founded upon.

If we want to put a label on America’s foundation, disparity, we can safely call it greed. Greed of gargantuan and unapologetic proportions. Greed that is currently eating the nation alive.

Oh yes, before Jesus was unceremoniously dragged from the pulpit and ejected out the door on his face, he did manage to say this, “And I repeat again, the love of money is the root of all evil!” Then he mumbled under his breath as he picked himself up and brushed the small stones from his tunic, “I’ll be back!” and vanished.

There’s no Beer in Heaven – Time to get Serious

[off the cuff by   ~Sha’Tara]
It’s time to get serious.  As most know by now, I was once a very religious person.  So religious, in fact, I became religious twice.  In politics that would be called going from a liberal stance to a conservative one, or is it vice-versa?  Doesn’t matter.  What matters is, I need to confess the real reason I left religion.  Starting at the start, we do religion because we want to go to Heaven, just like we go to work because we want a paycheck.  Pretty basic.

All was well until one day, thanks to radio, I heard a song so devastating, I never recovered – I even went to an upholstery repair shop, they couldn’t help me.  (Oh, aren’t I punny!)

Here’s that infamous song by Frankie Yankovic

In Heaven there is no beer

That’s why we drink it here
And when we’re gone from here
All our friends will be drinking all that beer

The moment I heard that song, I was convicted of its utter truth.  I knew then, and still do, that people who sing these songs never lie because they are the ones the corporations use to sing commercial ditties for them, and we all know, based on their success rating that commercials absolutely NEVER LIE.  So there I was, halfway through my Heineken and my heart didn’t just sink, it plummetted.  No beer in Heaven.  They still hold to prohibition there.  Of course I was in the Christian camp so slipping on a hijab I snuck in the Islamic side to see if Allah was more open than Jehovah on drinking.  No luck, except that Allah was willing to provide a number of nubile virgins for his chosen heroes (they call themselves martyrs but all fundamentally religious people believe they are being constantly persecuted so that doesn’t mean a whole lot).  Obviously virgins, particularly of the female kind, wasn’t what I was looking for, so I excused myself, said I was just browsing, and made a rapid exit – you might understand why.  But back to my side of the fence.

After the shock, and a very satisfactory emtying of my Heineken beer, little knowing it wasn’t bottled in Holland, but at the beer plant in town,  I began to think about this.  So I’m in Heaven. Let’s just say I spent the day looking after a kindergarten bunch of rowdies and I want to retire to my “mansion” (everybody has to have a mansion in Heaven, that’s the rule, it’s in the law book – it’s for the higher tax bracket but I’m not supposed to know that), pop open the fridge and draw out a first class beer.  It’s Heaven after all, would I be sold after market crap?  But according to this song I just heard, no such luck.  It doesn’t help that I can hear the groaning and moaning along with the odd girlish cries of protest coming from the other side of the partition where the Muslim boys are going at it full bore.  In fact, it makes my blood boil, or would, if Iwas already there.  But I’m thinking here. That cheapskate Jehovah.  Here’s Allah providing seventy virgins, count them, that’s right: seventy for each one of his hero-boys to rape and pillage, and I can’t even have one lousy beer?  I mean you believe in the guy.  You serve him all your life, which can be reasonably long if he doesn’t decide to have you burned alive at the stake at nineteen as he did for Joan…

There are lots of reasons to leave one’s religion.  You’ve been fondled after Sunday school by the assistant pastor, and later on, raped by the main pastor.  That’s one reason.  You’ve been passed over for a promotion to choir leader.  The church bus left without you that day the church team was playing a rival team and they won.  You can’t become a “real” pastor ’cause you’re a girl and girls are designed by God to serve their men masters.  If you don’t believe that just ask a judge, specifically you could ask Judge Roy Moore – he’s the expert on this at the moment.  Just don’t get too close, his hands are still quite active when he’s not holding a gun in the right hand and a bible in the left.  You might be unpleasantly surprised where those fingers land.

But this song, that was the very last straw.  What’s wrong with God, anyway?  Isn’t it enough he feels women’s lives should be made hell, physically, morally, socially, financially and in any other “ally” possible?  Now he’s going to deny me my one consolation at the end of the day?  I’m committing apostasy, over beer (I said to myself).
Over beer? You ask somewhat shocked.  You bet.  So that was it.  It’s my understanding that Hell has an ample and unrestricted supply of beer.  OK, it’s raccoon piss, i.e., Canadian and American beer, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I’ll close this with the old truism on life.  In life, there are only two things to worry about: either you’re healthy, or you’re sick. If you’re healthy, nothing to worry about.  If you’re sick, there are two things to worry about: either you’re going to live or you’re going to die.  If you’re going to live, nothing to worry about.  If you’re going to die, there are two things to worry about: either you’re going to Heaven or you’re going to Hell.  If you’re going to Heaven, nothing to worry about (well, except the beer thing of course) and if you’re going to Hell you’ll be so busy entertaining and being entertained, you won’t have time to worry.

I Like Thinking

              [thoughts from    ~burning woman~    by Sha’Tara]

I like thinking.  I think it’s quite my favourite occupation.  Much of the time spent thinking, I even think about thinking.  I wonder too, while thinking, what thinking really is.  I know what it does, but how has that incredible ability develop so that “I” could have it, and for free too? 

You don’t get much of any value for free these days, and what remains the powers that be are sitting in board rooms, and expanding R&D facilities to find ways and means to steal that from the general public and sell it back to them, drugged and artificially flavoured.

I’m wondering, which is a sibling of thinking, if they are trying to find ways to steal our thinking freedom to sell it back to us in the form of pills, propaganda, brainwash and blatant stupidity?

Oh, what am I saying!  They’ve always done that.  They brainwashed you with Religion since the infancy of the species.  Then came the “short fingered vulgarians” (a term I am borrowing from Emma in https://goodmarriagecentral.wordpress.com/2017/10/08/our-positive-disintegration/ )which she used to refer to Donald Trump, but which also serves equally well for all the BadBullyBoys of our past and present who have masqueraded as rulers, leaders and general psychopathic mayhem makers and thieves of gargantuan proportions.  Otherwise known as government, and banking, of course.

In this last century, half of which I slipped through unseen but observing, we experienced much more intense brainwashing in the form of ads from newspapers (remember those?), magazines (ditto?) radio, TV, and now the Infernet.  Some have the brainless gall to think of it as informational.  Gag me!  “Ads by Google” and “Rate this Ad.” – Rate an ad?  Are they serious?  Are people so unthinkingly, utterly brain dead that they would consider rating an ad as “good”?  “Please rate our slap in your face: was if effective?  Like it here.” “Rate this lie, here.”  “Tell us how we’re doing.  Are we stealing enough of your money or can you find ways to help us improve our Corporate Thievery? Click here to participate.

Then, in case anyone got through all of that and is still capable of an iota of free thinking, they lathered society with sports and various entertainment and entertainers to make up your mind for you.  Here you cheer for the reds, and here you’ll get clobbered if you don’t support the blues and oh, don’t miss this on YouTube: rapper JarPlixBop was interviewed and gives a brilliant analysis on the coming election.  If you’re still hesitant on who to vote for, listen to that interview: just brilliant!

There’s a whole Walmart super store of other prepackaged thinking that’s part and parcel of civilization.  Most people like shopping, enjoy wasting money on stupid stuff and stunts.  It’s all there, on the shelves, in the bubble packs, hanging by the checkout counters.  Buy, buy, buy and say goodbye to your own thinking powers.

The only problem with pre-packaged thinking is, a pile of feces freshly dumped can appear shiny and even brilliant in the proper light, but I’d still advise not to get too close. Look at it the next day and you’ll notice that much of the sheen has gone and the “shit flies” are having a field day on it.  That in itself should be food for thought, and thought, which arises from thinking, is what I was going to write about.

I like thinking.  I like linking thinking, stringing it out as far as I can make it go, wondering, which is another aspect of thinking, how far I can think it.  Did you know you can’t out-think thinking?  It just keeps on.  All you need do is follow, and open doors and gates as you get to them, keep following.

There’s all sort of thinking.  There’s directed thinking, like when you want to participate in an open discussion and try to stick to the subject at hand.  There’s recreational thinking which is a lot of fun, especially if you happen to be alone and need someone to play with.

Nothing however beats wild thinking.  That’s my favourite type of thinking.  Suddenly you encounter it, as if out of nowhere (which as everybody knows, is left of everywhere and what’s left of everywhere) and you decide, heck, I’ll follow him today.  So you think-track your way through a wilderness of thoughts you had never even dreamed could have existed.  You realize that all your life it was this close, so close you could have been a thinking wanderer lo those many years.  But never mind, you’re now tracking the Sasquatch of Sasquatches.  You’re swimming after the Loch Ness monster and practically holding it by the tail.

Wild thinking knows no boundaries, none whatever.  The more you track wild thinking the more of societal dummied-down, drugged sluggishness oozes from your mind.  You begin to feel your freedom and before you know it, you really are free.  You realize you can exercise your own thinking in an increasingly pristine wilderness of thinking where free thought meets free thought and the greatest love affair of all times begins to coalesce.

From the heights of the wildest mountain imaginable you look back upon the smog-filled valleys; you remember the noise, the commotion, the hates and fears and doubts that polluted both mind and body, and you know you’ll never go back down again.

I think of a simple ladybug.  It finds a blade of grass, or a finger pointing up (it doesn’t care if it’s the middle finger), walks up to the top… and takes off but only when it reaches the top.

I can think whatever I want.  There is no power in heaven, on earth, or in hell, that can force me to think otherwise.  If I say to myself, I think so, or I don’t think so, that is the one thing I can totally rely on to be true.

“I am therefore I think.”  (Sorry Mr. Descartes but that is the way it is.)