Tag Archives: a modern antifable


Once a beautiful young, fractured girl fell in love with powerful old man, who was famous, and twice her age. And winning him and being won by him, she picked him up and deposited him in her heart. From this vantage point, he wrapped her in ribbon and gave her as a gift to himself.

They married.

He painted the world and became famous.

She painted herself and became famously beautiful.

He had an affair.

And then, like a girl falling from a great building, she fell as if from a great height and landed in the street below.

And thus crushed, she took her famous, selfish old husband out of her heart and she put him in her head, right between her eyes, and from there he sent out his ropes and wrapped them around her neck, and she died quite completely.

He reached out to the world for praise, and received it.

She reached out to herself and touched her own face, and she gently tugged it off.

Her face in her hands, she crumbled it up into tiny pieces, added oil to it, and brushed it on a canvass.

She looked at her beautiful, dark, vibrant skin tones, her black shinning hair, her gorgeous eyebrows, and smiled. There she was, alive, lovely, bordered with deep, rich color, defiant on the canvass.

This soothed her, the removal of her face, the smearing it on canvass, the surrounding it in rich color, so she did it, again and again, removing her face, her hair, her eyes, her skin and her mighty eye brows and applying them to canvasses. She painted her feeling face, her stolid face, her thinking face, her angry face, her sad face, her dominated face, her proud face, her dead face, her being born face, her brave face and her terribly trapped and her lovely dying face too.

And so went her life; it was love and death and pain and beautiful paint.

And when she finally died at last, death was nothing at all to her, for she had died many times before. Dying was just like painting; it was just peeling off one of your faces and attaching it to a canvass so that you might put back on yet another of your many beautiful faces once again.

And what about her lovely face? Like her husband — it out lived her.


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Filed under Art


“I’m done,” she said, “Get rid of him!”

“I don’t think so angel,” he said, “It’s too hot out there.”

“What, are you going to wait until he destroys something here?” she replied.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said.”It involves a saw — but no small pieces.”

The next day he was out back, with a sawzall, hooked up to an eight inch blade with big teeth. There was some screaming, bit of sawing, and some digging, and some more sawing.

He came back in the house.

“What?” she said.

“Done!” he answered.

“I don’t see a body,” she said looking out back.

“I cut off his legs,” he said.

“Hum,” she wondered, “Do you think that will do it?”

“Next week,” he said, ” I hired a guy to take off his head.”

“Who do you think you are, God?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, “and anyway, he’ll still have a trunk.”

“Freakin’ Ficus!” she said.

“Like men,” he mused, “better pruned!”

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Filed under Reform

Hierarchy Malarkey

Once there was a hierarchy who lived a life of malarkey.

The essence of the malarkey was found in his conviction that all people were either in or out; saved or damned; chosen or not; called or snot; loved or rot. It was a lot of woe and foe, and because of that, he couldn’t just put it out there.

He knew that it wouldn’t work to say what you really thought when you thought so many people were below you.

So he lived in his own upper layer with care, and he kept quite mum about his in-or-out, either-or, odd-or-like- me, rich-or-poor.

Instead, he was so nice he’d greet you twice, if you looked good or had the lice.

Everyone was his best friend.

He loved the kids and their jokes and especially loved a freakin’ hoax.

He’d publicly agree with what he privately hated, that people said, not in red, but in his head, in bed — later.

It was a snarky, larky, malarkey hierarchy.

When he picked a wife — he picked one less accomplished than himself.

When he hired a partner — he hired one less qualified than himself.

When he met a wealthy man, he made him his best friend.

When he met a poor men, he made him his project.

It looked good, went well, for a while, crocodile — his woman, his compliment; his people, his success; his workers, his underlings; his rich and poor men, his rank-makers, his world, two-part, sweet and secretly tart.

And then it blew up.

His partner proved to be more competent than expected, his family less happy than required, his poor men less needy, his rich men too greedy, his saved too damned, his out, too freakin’ unacceptably in.

Things simply wouldn’t stay on the shelves he’d put them on. People got off of their leashes.They stopped minding. They exited their stations; they left their boxes. They rebelled!

So, he pulled rank.

It stank.

He wrote it down.

It left the ground, and sailed — away.

In the end, even amends couldn’t save his long tossed friends that always were, his hidden ends.

Hier-arcing-ly, with lock-and-key, and you and me, snorklingly, he proved basically, just to be — a bunch of mal-lark-eeeeee!


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Filed under Mindsets

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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Filed under truth, Uncategorized


Once, there were a few followers who decided to get together and form a follow by which they would attract more followers. Success would be more true followers. They came up with a motto, “You’ll fit here!”

Their efforts brought more followers so they wrote a folstitution — in a follified form. After that, they picked up a leader, who had a degree in followology, and they surged ahead.

Things went followingly. More and more people came and soon they constructed a following place and hired more leaders. They fallowed, fillowed and fellowed away.

But with followers, there are two dangers. The first is hate; the second is love. This group fell by means of love.

The first followers bonded with the next followers and became the core followers who unwittingly repelled the new followers by their overly close following of each other. In other words, the followers followed the followers around too much.

And, the following shrank.

When one of their leaders pointed out that they had lost their way, they all agreed. It was obvious. There were now less of them. So they formed strategic strategies to again attract new followers. They created followerizing events, but they mostly just followed each other to and from and around these events .

The death nell rang for the organization when everyone who was left knew that they had lost the power to attract more followers but stayed in the follow anyway. They had grown so comfortable with their fellow, failed followers that they just couldn’t leave.

The motto they had begun to live by was “We fit here!” And they lived that out until there was only one of them left.

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Filed under Politics

What’s Wrong With A Little Bit of Violet?

It was blue, he felt, that was wrong. It was unnatural.

The enemy, the deviants, the perverts — they were blue. These people must be confronted, and they must be stopped from wearing blue, from advocating blue, and from proudly being blue. Blue was disgusting!

So, he led a charge to preserve the existing laws against being blue. He went further. He did everything he could to change people from being blue to being violet. “God,” he proclaimed, pointing to his own color, “made us violet!” He founded an anti-blue organization. He funded a pro-violet campaign. He wrote several pieces on the effectiveness of color-change counseling, and he spoke at conferences for youth advocating color purity.

But shockingly, at the heights of his anti-blue influence, three set backs occurred that had him changing colors right and left. First, his wife discovered that he had a blue relationship with his personal secretary. But, upon defending his blue to his wife, he turned bright red. Secondly, his taxes were audited — he had hidden some income — which caused him to cameleon into a very deep shade of yellow. Finally, he was hit by a bus while crossing a busy street, which of course made him no color at all.

He went straight to heaven, and upon arriving there he announced to God, “Too soon, my good man! You pulled the plug too soon. There’s anti-blue work to be done. Send me back. I must defend your dear, violet people!”

“Not happening,” said God.

“I know I wasn’t perfect!” he protested. And then, oddly enough, before God and in heaven, as he spoke he began to color again, brightening into a light, thin shade of red. He continued, “But whatever you have on me, you know that I fought the blue people, and I defended the cause of natural, normal, decent folks.”

“It’s not happening, ” said God.

“But why?” shouted the man turning even more red. “Is this about my little bit of blue?”

“No,” said God. “Your blue was far too weakly human to cause me to pull your plug?”

“Is this about my yellow?” he shouted, now gradually turning from red to a very distinct shade of violet.

“What?” said God. “Are you kidding?”

“Then what is this about?” screamed the now very, very violet man. “I did a lot of good on earth! I deserve some respect here. I demand that you tell me, now!”

“It’s about that,” said God, pointing at him.

“What, in God’s name,” said the man, looking at his outstretched finger, “is wrong with a little bit of violet?”

“Yours,” said God, “is unnatural.”

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Filed under Spirituality