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Sunday Squibs


The beauty of the squib is even when it makes no sense, it often sounds as though it does.

A set time for prayer? Life itself is a prayer...or a curse.

Meditation has no manual. Just keep crashing till you glide.

It's great, old timer, that you feel like a kid. Care for a cup of caution with that?

I know I'm just a tiny part of all humanity, but the one I call myself keeps covering the page like an over-zealous pop-up ad.

Country Zen: looking for enlightenment in all the wrong places.

No matter what the mindfulness channel says, I'll be taking lots of long winter's naps and when awake, formulating big plans for Spring.

Science takes me to the edge of the universe where religion says I'll find God, but not how to recognize him or her.

I'll only know a scrap of all of written history which itself is a but a scrap of what has come to pass.

I'd like to combine the gravitas of Elmer Fudd with the diablerie of Bugs, but the rabbit is always disappearing down some hole.

To outdo Shakespeare, find a mid-level language and kick it up about a hundred notches.

Google has pledged not to be evil. Can its users try not to be trolls.




Comments

  1. Every one a winner, but my favorite is the squib with Elmer and Bugs, who remind me of another one of my favorites - a certain pair of Palmville Township writers. Who is Elmer, and who is Bugs? A Country Zen question. Wannaskan Almanac readers to settle in their own minds.

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  2. Whaz up, doc? You silly, wabbit! You know, you're quite right. One of them is prone to wear red & black plaid stuff and physically resemble that portly character--and the other is skinny like a jackrabbit with longish feet, big eyes and ears--and often silly expressions. It is rather astonishing when one stops to consider it.

    As for woe, I understand your declination of this weighty mantle, knowing your life is mayhem chosen by your own design. Time is limited even in the forest. Always enjoyed your writing.

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