Ember

 Is it dark already? The forest seems very quiet.

Too quiet...

Almost as if the trees dare not disturb the blanket of calm retrospective contemplation of this moment. The last evidence of a season full of color, hopes, of sadness, suspense, some boredom, but mostly surprise, laughs, and much joy lies slowly glowing with the fleeting heat of what had been a bustling blaze.  

I wish I could say that this ember was the beginning. Many fires start with an ember just like this one. The start of something bright and hot. Something that reaches high and licks the air with the flick of its dangerous tongue. Oh! to feel that heat at this moment! There are no flames now. No blast of warmth that pushes you away with its rough jocularity, and then pulls you right back. It was like the beating heart of giant beast comprised of plasma. This ember is a neat little package of what was. A portrait of the plasma beast, where the beast herself once stood. But this ember is not the beginning.

Speaking of portraits, they say that a picture is worth a thousand words. The truth is the picture has no worth of its own. It certainly has no words to give you. Even the most fascinating, inspiring, emotionally moving image has no intrinsic power. But then, how are they able to invoke feelings? How do they change minds, influence others? How do they tell you the story that the artist means to tell you? I suppose the magic is not so much magic. It's not a secret, I think images must have arms. I know, this sounds a bit odd, but I think it must be true! Pictures reach into my mind, take my experiences, and things I already knew. They pluck the experiences like piano strings. Ting, Twongwongwong, Buh-Bong. I get an idea of what another person or moment meant to convey. I hear the music, but it's music played on the piano of my mind. The music is still my music. If you were to see this ember, you would hear the music too, but it would not be the same as being here to hear it yourself moments ago when it was real and tangible and loud. I wonder if that makes any sense. This ember, glowing so faintly, can provoke images in your mind of what was here moments ago. But unless you were sitting here with me next to it, you can't really know this particular fire. This blaze. I guess what I am trying to say is that you had to be there.. 

Maybe you feel that all flames are flames. Every big blaze is like every other big blaze. Maybe you don't understand why I care so much about this fire. I hear you saying "Just make another! This is trivial!" 

Maybe..

Maybe..

Maybe you are right. But.. But this one.. This fire. These flames. They were here! They were so warm! They were bright and proud and full of excitement! They were glorious and they flourished. But more than anything else they were mine. I lit the first match. I sheltered the fledgling flames from the wind that sought to devour them. They did the work. They grew. I just made sure they were fed. This was my fire. It warmed me. There will be other fires, but never will there be another one exactly like this. 

As the heat and light from that blaze diminished, I will admit that I felt a profound sense of loss. I felt the cold edging back in from where it had been hiding behind the trees from my plasma monster. I know that the fire must go out. This camp has served me well, but it's time to move on. Nothing is forever, which is why things like this mean so much. They are a page in the book of adventures that I carry. There are many other pages, but the importance of this page is not diluted by the existence of other pages in the book. The book isn't the same without this page.

The ember's glow is now almost imperceptible. The ember fades, like a little orange eye closing slowly for a much needed slumber. There is now nothing but ash and the memories in my mind left as proof of anything happening here.

Everything has been packed. It's time to go. I will remember these moments. I will record them into my adventure book. I am satiated. This was a good season. Maybe I will return to this spot. Maybe another fire will play with the air again right here. Maybe.. Yes, I think there will be another flame to warm and entertain. I hope to be sitting nearby when that happens. For now I roll the last little item over in my hand. It is a matchbox. I smile as I put it into my pocket. This is my matchbox. I am embraced by the warmth of knowing that there are still a few matches left inside.

--

Thanks for reading. As I wrote this post I listened to music from this channel: jazzijazzful

Cute is the new stupid.

Hi. Sorry I haven't written anything for a while, Elesa. Anyway, it's just because blogging is stupid, and I haven't wanted to do it ever again, until now.

Ok, blackberry. I have really liked your phones and been a really big fan. My pearl was so cool!! I always told people how cool you were. Until now. Now I have one word for you: SHUT UP.

I get so sick of companies like blackberry that think they are so freaking innovative when they try to reinvent something that already exists and affix their name to it somehow. If I hear blackberry talk about their BBMs, I am going to send them an actual BBM. It's a text. The word is "Text" or more specifically "Text Message."

Everyone knows what a BM is. It's a very personal thing that I will not discuss here, since this blog is known for its sensitivity and class... Poop. It's poop. Specifically a bodily function that moves the poop from inside a person to ... not inside them. BBM is a very LARGE version of this. Probably most notably those of elephants, or hippos.

Ok, I feel much better now...

The tooth is out there

So I have been watching X-Files. It's cool. It's about this guy who runs around almost finding aliens, and then being really dramatic about everything. As you can tell, this post is probably not about the X-Files, but rather about another subject entirely: A tooth.

Not just any tooth. There was a time when I was free like a bird. An overweight bird without any wings, and with an allergy to sunflower seeds, but a bird nonetheless. Nonetheless? Um, actually alottheless. Anyway, this bird (me) had a dream. A dream to eat things without the sharp, bitter hand of suppression covering his small little beak, trying to stop the little bird from ever being happy again. The little bird tried to realize his simple little happy dream, but could not. For each time he stretched out his beak to savor the softness of an ice cream cone, or chomp on the crunchediness of a corn nut, his joy was thwarted by an icy jet of pain. A pain enough to make a bounty hunter cry. The suspect? The instigator? The villain? None other than a tooth, a spy. An "inside" job.

So what did I do about it? I'll tell you! I hired a master of one of the most ancient and darkest arts known to this part of the universe. A wizard wielding a power that makes grown men crumble. The power of dentistry. dun dun dun!!!!

Do you want to know what happens to a traitor in my employ? Well, first: He is stabbed multiple times where he lives and filled with an injection that paralyzes him. Makes him numb, unable to feel. Then, his insides are ground down from his head to his toes and beyond. Then he is filled with special plastic rods, and cement. After that, a special crown is placed upon his head, and he has no other recourse but to conform, and be still.

Creepy enough? Well, It's the honest tooth.

Apostrophe Catastrophe

I like apostrophes. I really do. I think they are great, and I find the rules regarding them easy enough to remember. However, as we know from spiderman, with great power comes great propensity for stupidity. or something like that.

I think properly used apostrophes are a beautiful thing. Equally, there is nothing that says "Hi, I live up in them hills with my banjo, my 50 cats, and my 2 teeth" like the blatant misuse of the apostrophe.

Let's take the apostrophe blunder that really gets my goat: Using an apostrophe to pluralize a word. PEOPLE!! If you use an apostrophe to make a word plural, I will come to your house and pull your toenails out through your nose!!!!!! Here are some examples: CD's for sale. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!n CDs CDs do you spell boxes like this: box's? or Pony's? How about Idiot's? NO YOU DON'T, unless your brain is made of kitty litter. Another example: (this one I actually saw on the side of a homeland security trailer) "Participating Agency's: Springville, Spanish Fork..." etc. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!! I knew the government was kinda slow, but COME ON!!! If you have more than one agency, an apostrophe isn't helping you. The word is actually Agencies. No wonder it took FEMA so long to get to New Orleans. That was harsh, but not as harsh as I am going to be with the amoeba that made the graphic for the side of that trailer.

Here is my new rule: "When in doubt, just leave it out!" I promise you will look much less like a feeble minded rock-biter if you accidentally leave an apostrophe out than if you put one where it just doesn't belong.

In closing, I would just like to say this: I probably make plenty of punctuation mistakes, but I don't care. This isn't about me, this is about apostrophes. Stay focused, moron.

I'm just not afraid of ghosts anymore. I used to be terrified, but I just can't be afraid of them anymore. Here's the problem: I have never ever heard of a ghost attacking ANYBODY. I mean, sure, there are scary ghost movies where the ghosts get people, but in real life nobody has ever claimed ghost attack. I know what you are thinking: "How long has it been since I have had a cookie? Has it been long enough for me to have another one without guilt?" Well, STOP THINKING THAT!! We are talking about ghost attacks here!! Or rather, we are talking about the non-existence of ghost attacks.

I am sure that you think I am just being silly, but I assure you that I am not. I know that you think that just because no one has claimed it, doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Well, I'm sorry that you think that. You must be pretty dumb. I am obviously right, just by virtue that I know a LOT about ghosts. Let's make a little comparison here: Aliens. That's right! I said it!! Aliens. Nobody can even agree about whether they exist or not, and how many people claim that they have been abducted?! Like a million. A million people every year claim to have been abducted by aliens and taken to their spaceship and had tea with their leader. Now I ask you again, how many people have claimed ghost attack?

The answer is: none. That's right, Paraclese, none.

The truth is that ghosts DO exist, as opposed to aliens, who don't. Ghosts simply don't care about the living. And why would they? You don't have anything they want. They don't need to eat or buy things or talk on the telephone. They probably spend most of their time break-dancing, or going to movies.

You know, I just had a thought: Maybe ghosts ARE aliens???? Maybe when you die, you turn into an alien.. That would explain a lot.

Why am I still typing, I need to find a panda.

Another Sydneyism

Today on the way down to the Payson Pool, Ethan and Sydney were having a little discussion about what they wanted to be for halloween. At one point I distinctly heard Sydney say "Well, I am NOT going to be a poundpire for halloween, they are TOO scary!"

I am not sure what a poundpire is. Maybe it is the guy that guards the dog pound? Or.... nope, that is the only thing it could possibly be.

In other news, I have been involved in this play called "Bells are Ringing." It's a play about a mobster who is trying to get money from this dude. Ok, it isn't about that really, that's just a small part of it. But along with doing lights and sound, I play the mobster, so obviously, it's the only part that matters. I am having some fun with it. I get to use my vast acting experience to deliver lines like: "Is Sandor around?" and "shut up." Oh and my favorite line: "shut up!" Fun times.

Have you ever started something and then got tired of it halfway through and just de

Pitter Patter

This stream of consciousness is going to work out!  I just know it.  I am pretty dang sure that I can sit down to this computer and just type, and no matter what I type it will be awesome!!

Ok, now I am out of ideas.  Oh!  How about another poem?

Pitter-patter little mouse
sneaking all around my house
Fae caught you once inside her closet
While she made a shirt deposit

Pitter-patter little mouse
Fae doesn't want you near her blouse!
so I sent Ethan for my broom
(I keep it in the other room)

My eyes stayed fast upon your spot
A way to pass me filled your thoughts!
Oh where's the broom!  Hey look! It's here!
and then you knew the end was near.

The curtains closing, things looked bleak.
Your chances slim, your position weak.
And just when things were at their worst
When with fear you thought you'd burst
a tiny flash of hope and chance
told you that you might pass Lance
without being hit by my large broom
maybe you could skip your doom.

So up you sprang!
Out toward the door!
My broom, I swang
down toward the floor!

I did not get you on that day
You jumped and zagged and got away

But heed my words, for this I swear
If I see your mousy hair
Even though It cause me strain
I'll whack you hard right on your brain!