August 27, 2013 · 3:32 am

The Lie

Once there was a lie with a wry eye.

It went spy, spy, spy and vie, vie, vie and trapped its fly with glittered eye and pretend sigh and had a cry that was — well, spry.

That’s the thing about lies — they have great clarity of mind, method and madness, and they are very effective at luring, webbing and enmeshing their victims.

“I am just like you,” the lie said to what it wanted. It wasn’t.

“I’m just right for you,” said the lie. It wasn’t.

“I believe what you do,” said the lie. It didn’t.

And then, it was celebration time.

And that’s the other thing about lies — they are really, really good at getting everyone to celebrate, to high-five the lie with lots of pie and every guy in suit and tie.

And so this lie flounced, pronounced and announced and after that, the partying began. At home, and in odd pairs here and there, everyone said they knew it wasn’t true, and they didn’t like it.

But out in public, when they gathered around food everyone smiled and acted like this was the best thing since sliced dice. And that settled that, and so the lie drove off with its fly baked in its pie.

Time passed, until one day the lie decided it wanted something else.

Then it told the truth.

No party followed.

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August 2, 2013 · 10:04 pm

The Lioness

When the lioness first became an marriage and family therapist, she set up her practice in a game reserve to serve the myriad of traumatized animals there. She rented an office and invited all the species in the reserve to come see her for therapy.

She had gone to a good school, and she was naturally gifted with insight. Her first clients observed this, and benefitting from their time with her, quickly spread the word about her skills.

By the end if the first day, several different kinds of animals — water buffalo, deer, wart hogs and rhinos — had come to see the lioness, and many others had made appointments.

That evening, being hungry from a hard days work, she went outside the game park and attempted to run down an antelope for dinner, that being her way , as a lioness. She was unsuccessful, and the terrified antelope got away.

The next day she was startled to find that many of her counseling appointments called on the phone and canceled.

In fact it was the case that no antelope, nor for that matter any of the animals in the area, besides the other lions, ever came to her for therapy again, and eventually her career failed, and she went into another line of work.

She became a safari guide for big game hunters.

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August 1, 2013 · 10:12 am

The Greatest

Once all the animals of the earth met for a great conclave. Their intention was to answer the much argued question: Which is the greatest species?

“We are the greatest!” trumpeted the elephants!

“No, said the blue whales, surfacing in the sea, “We are!”

The giraffes loped gracefully across a field and sang out “Look how we move!”

“But compare us!” called the swimming swans, holding their long, curved necks so proudly.as they swam on the lake.

The peregrine falcons flew up into the sky and cried out, “Watch how we dive!”

“No,” said the ostriches running, “See us!”

“Look at us; see us!” cried out all the creatures hungrily.

Then the humans spoke up. “You can all quit showing off and stop all the yelling,” they said, “Obviously we are the superior species. We have the best brains, and brains trump size, grace and speed every time!”

“How can we be sure you are smarter than us?” asked the other animals.

“The proof is easy,” said the humans. “We invented guns and bombs, and we can blow the mangy hide off the rest of you anytime we want.”

Then all the other animals cried out in fear, “Why would you do that?”

“Because we are the smartest and the greatest!” responded the humans, “and we rule you!”

Not long after that the humans got into a massive conflict with each other, as they were so want to do, and with a vicious war cry, the big-brained species pressed their bomb buttons and incinerated the planet, vaporized all the great creatures, including themselves.

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July 26, 2013 · 5:57 pm

The Song of the Soil

Once upon a time there was a parcel of unhappy dirt.

“I hate myself!” It said. “I’m dirt! I live in a stupid, dead, empty lot. I grow weeds. It’s nothing!”

But one day with a clunk and a crunch the dirt was ploughed under, amended, opened back up to the sun, trellised, planted with small grape vines, fed and watered.

“I love you,” said the soaking water to the dry dirt, and ancient waters fallen from the stars soaked into the molten fires risen from the core. The soil blushed.

Then this little dirt fringe, this tattered tent of clod and dust, this corner junk yard of the earth — past home of lost leg, corroded coin, seed, shard, bone, spoon, butterfly wing, broken toy — this life-maker and death-eater, this nursery-morgue, seed bag and graveyard, this odd compounded, mingled, magic mix kissed the new grape vines planted in it. Tiny grape roots threaded the dark, welcoming soil pores below them, and small green stalks pierced the bright air above.

And all the elements of the soil danced and praised. Nitrogen shouted, phosphorus hooted, calcium clapped. Magnesium and sulphur began to waltz, and oxygen and hydrogen and all the other elemental voices of the earth sang the song of the soil.

“We love you!” sang the elements, “We love, love you, love you!”

“I love too!” sang the soil to all the budding vines. ” I love you too!”

The elements danced with the soil, the soil with the roots, the roots with the stalks, the stalks with leaves and the new leaves danced with the tiny green chalices of life ascending from the applauding soil to the singing sky above.

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July 23, 2013 · 4:50 am

Jealousy

Once there was a young woman who grew up wanting. It was the kind of wanting that leads to aching which leads to more wanting.

She wanted to be given the same favor that her older sister received from their parents. She wasn’t.

She wanted to be strongly disciplined like her older sister, with the kind of discipline which attends strong expectation. She wasn’t.

She wanted to be sent to the same elite school as her older sister, but she wasn’t. She was sent to the mediocre school near her family’s home.

The upshot of this down-shot was that she was shot-through. But she didn’t tell her parents that, and she didn’t tell her sister that, and she didn’t tell her friends that, and she didn’t tell herself that either.

Off she went to college to try her luck there, excelled, graduated, got a job as a professional, got married, had two daughters, went back to school for an advanced degree, moved up the professional ladder, switch to the same profession as her sister, succeeded, and was left — still wanting and not knowing why.

She had a conflict with a rival at work. She went to therapy.

She talked, and she cried, and she talked and she said, for the first time in her life, “I’m jealous of my big sister,” and she hid her face.

“Why am I forty-three years old and for the first time in my life I am admitting to an emotion I have had since I was two?” she said with sobbing voice.

“Because,” said her therapist, “to admit to jealousy is a social crime. Jealousy, when exposed, is always punished severely, with disgust. We all know this, although we have never been told this. You are no different than the rest of us in this. Jealousy is the emotion everyone experiences but no one admits.”

“What do I do?” she asked her therapist.

“We may become thirsty in one place,” said her therapist, “but find that there are other places to get a drink.”

So she went home. She cried. She got up from her tears. She was resolved.

“You,” she said to herself, “are the little girl who needs to be special. And so, I need to tell you,” she went on, “that you are special, just as you are, to me, and I love you very much!” She said this to herself in the mirror, and that night, she got on the phone, and invited her parents and her sister over for dinner.

“I love you,” she said when they arrived, and welcomed them into her home.

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July 16, 2013 · 12:06 am

The Proverbist

When he was little he went to preschool. It was fun. It was A, B, C and Z, and 1, 2, 3 and free. It was short, sort and zippy snort.  It was “cat” and “rat” and “Mr. Dingly Bat.”

But then, things changed. He went to first. There he was introduced to second, uped to third and ushered into fourth, and on and on until he got it. His thinking extendified, his talking verbulated, his writing complimated. He mastered the art of expandification, the rhetoric of elaboronomy and the skill of eloquefusion.

He got a certificate, and could say pretty much anything — in a lengthy fashion.

He would have been left this way, prolix bollixed, but stuff happened.

He ran smack into a situation; it unnouned him. He had surgery; it deverbed him. His friend stabbed him in the back; it exlocuted him. For a time he was asyllabic, unworded and detongued.

And then, one day, with an “and” and an “or” he said  less which was more.

He delonged, delinged and delanged. He became a proverbist.

He went short on cats. He waxed brief on rats; he elaborated just a bit on a bat and spat, and he wrote a proverb about that:

A verbal hoot is a root-a-short-toot.

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July 6, 2013 · 4:27 pm

Chuff-a-Puff

Once there was a puffer who was skilled at smuff, huff and various sniffity stuff, and because of this, it was orduffed to lead a snuff.

Things went along swimmingly, and as time and space ran at its pace, the snuffers hired a team of puffers. This was good stuff, and resulted in lots of added fluff at the snuff, which fluffed and fluffed and fluffed.

However, there was one missed must. When the puffers were bemuffed, they kept it in their cuffs — sniff, sniff and sniffity snuff — except for an occasional, secret chuff-a-puff-a-muff-a-luff.

As is often the case, in such situcuffs, there was a notable lack of sniff-a-diff and no sift-a-lift.

Then came the much feared and most ominous puff of dust, and when it settled, one of the puffers was cuffed, one buffed, one huffed and one reduffed. Left was the first puffer, its wuff of fluff-a-tuffs and a much reduced snuff.

Everyone was bemuffed!

“Puff-a-luff!”

“What the huff?”

Various and curious were the respond-a-fluffs, but as it is written in the Schmuff, in 2nd Zuff, chapter juff, verse kuff:

“Chuff your stuff, don’t sniffity snuff.”

And in 1st Puff, chapter xuff, verse quff:

“Love your snuff as your own duff.”

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July 4, 2013 · 4:00 pm

The Sun and The Mountain Stream

The morning sun, blazing in a clear, blue sky, pieced the mountain stream, all the way to the rocky bottom. It shone its white, wavery lines into the cold, silver water.

The water in the mountain stream rushed away, down the mountain slope, crashed over the rocks and disappeared around a corner, running deep along the edge of a rocky cliff where the sun didn’t shine.

“What?” said the sun. “Did I say something wrong?”

The water ran dark and strong, saying nothing.

“I was just trying to help with a little advice,” said the sun.

“It didn’t help,” murmured the stream.

“It’s been ten years!” said the sun angrily, “Don’t you think it’s time to get over it. You have tributaries now, and you need to calm down, take life seriously, do what you need to do, for them.”

The water ran deeper now, dark and grey, along a stretch of the stream where both sides of the canyon rose up steeply and cast a dark shade over the whole of it.

The sun threw up his hands in frustration.

The water ran deeper now, within herself.

“It was good advice!” said the sun, “If she could just understand it.”

“It is a deep hurt!” said the water, “If he could just feel it.”

A cloud passed in front of the sun. The rays disappeared from the stream, even where it ran out into the open.

The sun darkened. The water darkened. Dark cried out to dark, and deep cried out to deep.

Then the sun, without a word, wrapped dark arms around the dark stream, and the stream reached up and hugged the sun, and then there was deep and quiet calm.

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June 26, 2013 · 2:53 am

The Gazelle Who Married a Lion

Once their was a gazelle who married a lion. She met him when she found him in a field beaten near to death by a local pride. Right away she saw that he needed her.

She nursed him back to health, and then she fell in love with him. She told her gazelle girlfriends, “I just love taking care of sick things!” But she also liked the lion because he was fierce, wild and beautiful. He was indeed amazing: he was also an addict. He was addicted to running things down and killing them, not just for food, but for sport.

They made a home together. The hunted together. They had a family.

One night the lion came home from an unsuccessful hunt. He was angry. They argued. He mauled her. The wounded gazelle left the next day. Her girlfriends told her to never go back, but she did, and she took her gazelle-cubs back with her.

Things were good again for some time. Then her fierce lion love attacked one of her cubs. She left that night.

A week later she went back. She was lonely. She was out of food. And she told her girlfriends that the incident was her fault. She had made him mad. Moreover, he had apologized to her and told her how much he needed her.

When the gazelle got home, the lion promised it would never happen again. The next day, he ran her down in an open field and ate her.

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June 12, 2013 · 2:14 am

The Corvette and the Peach

Once day a Corvette was on its way to hangout with family and friends when it looked up at a billboard and fell in love with a peach.

It was the most perfectly fresh peach that one could ever imagined. Even going by at speed, the Corvette could see its soft fuzz. A small slice had been taken from it and was lying at the front of the billboard. The Vette could see the sweet moist flesh, perfectly ripe, red and yellow — totally gorgeous!

“I love that peach!” said the Corvette, and veering off the freeway at the next offramp, it made its way back through the city streets to find the billboard peach. And then there she was!

The Corvette parked, turned off its engine, turned on the radio and settled in to flirt, joke, adore and enjoy some superfun.

Six months later the sign company came and took down the billboard and put up a picture of a bottle of Coke. They had to ask the Vette to move to get in close enough to do their work.

“What happened to my peach?” said the Corvette as workers left.

“I think they must have all sold all the ones they had in stock,” said the workmen.

Then the Corvette hung its head, drove away through the city streets, hopped on the freeway and headed up to the house.

When it got there, no one was home.

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