*thanks Lucy
I have been running so fast that I dosed off early even though I had heard that shooting stars were tonight*- when I woke, it was still dark so I went right out to see the stars. There was Orion right across the street. Next to him was the triangular head of Taurus, the butt of the bull is the Pleiades. Just as I focused on that cluster of stars a shooting star flamed out the bull's ass.
In August I took my son to a camp in the Sierras. I picked him up from the Wrestling Nationals at midnight in San Jose's airport, We headed straight for Susanville because J.Robinson's training started at 6:30 AM. Just before 3AM he was awake enough to see more stars than he had ever seen in his sixteen years. Just as we stood there looking up together we were treated with bright lines playing connect the dots. "So that's The Milky Way!"
In August I took my son to a camp in the Sierras. I picked him up from the Wrestling Nationals at midnight in San Jose's airport, We headed straight for Susanville because J.Robinson's training started at 6:30 AM. Just before 3AM he was awake enough to see more stars than he had ever seen in his sixteen years. Just as we stood there looking up together we were treated with bright lines playing connect the dots. "So that's The Milky Way!"
posted by brad4d | 8:12 PM
8 Comments:
I like the positive feel to this post. Thanks for sharing this.
there are trillions and trillions of them. We hardly know aour own galaxy. I am writing about it in my
coming environmental series. I spend a lot of time in the forests
of south India, spent lots of time in the himalayas too untill a few years ago, now I am growing too old to trek the mountains, 59 I'll be in january, What I write is based on my observation and experience and what I feel.
thank you so much for your vist Mr.Bradford and thanks for your comment which I couldn't quite understand. I apologise for the delay in my response. Thank you once again.
I'll probably regret writing this, but it seems somehow appropriate. I definitely should be doing something else since I have an 8 page paper due for my management of libraries course this evening, which should at the very least be grammatically correct without any spelling mistakes. It also seems as if the nail salon that I work at just called me in to give a massage. But this seems more interesting to me right; moreover, the fool always finishes last.
After graduating one year early from high school, I was supposed to go to a small, private liberal arts college that I fell in love with after listening to a lecture about Blake by Suzanne when I was a teenager in what may have been my mentor's lecture series. But I ended up not enrolling until I was an "adult" because I wanting to read for myself. Unfortunately my father didn't approve of that: either go to college or go to work, he said. And since my plan was to read by myself instead of going to college, we ended up in a literally bloody fight in which I ended up homeless in Waukegan. My friends tried to bail me out, but I was a foolish young man, maybe 16 at the time, and I decided that since I had been reading Henry Miller and Jack Kerouac, I would go hitchhiking with the goal of ending up in Big Sur, which both of those authors had written about at one point. I could tell you many interesting stories about hitchhiking, including being both saved by truck drivers and almost raped by truck drivers, but I have to admit that I don't regret hitchhiking, because I ended up meeting various con artists, getting naked with sexy women at outdoor hippy festivals, befriending some of the most interesting people in the most unlikely places, and finally having my first significant sexual relationship with Linda, who was 47 years old, in Big Sur, California. I still remember how we met: I walked into Nepenthe, a very expensive store full of interesting stuff from around the world, and there she was, the manager of the store. It was like lightning had struck. I must not have been badlooking in those days because I was only about 100 pounds with serious dread locks, my carmel skin, and innocent eyes. But not so innocent that I did not recognize beauty when I saw it, and there it was. I don't remember much of what we ended up talking about, although I am almost positive I made a stupid comment about it not being important to work when there are so many intellectual and spiritual things to pursuit. I would like to say that I was 17 years old, although I may have been 16 years old, and, shit, I have to admit that I didn't even knew how to put it in. We had great sex, Linda and I, and strangely enough her daughter, a very cute young woman, who may have been 22-23 was sleeping in a tent on the patio. We would sit drinking tea, Linda and I, overlooking the ocean, at the edge of her exquisetly furnished cottage on the mountainside. She may have been one of the people to further my interest in massage therapy, since she had a massage table and would give me massages on the table every once in a while. I ended up messing that relationship up by having an idea to hitchhike cross-country down I-80 to New York City, although I did end up coming back to Big Sur later, with another woman who I picked up on the road. I was such an ass when I was a kid! But I always honor Linda in my memories with the deepest respect for being the woman that initiated me to the divine pornographic mystery of love. I wonder if Linda said to herself when I returned with another woman: "It's been interesting, but it's all been a gorgeous mistake!"
The Inspector is human after all.
May wonders never cease.
Welcome, there are too few of us these days.
I Enjoyed the story. Thanks for sharing it.
Story telling is magic, thanks all for the encouragement and sharing
Thanks, Leopold!
There may be more than one way to interpret that sentence, but I should admit that I was thinking about Sinead O'Connor's song, a poem by William Blake, and a poem by Robert Frost.
I think that I misunderstood Sinead.
She may have been saying exactly the same thing that she inspired me to write, with a simple sentence instead of a complex sentence.
If you take the adjective "gorgeous" out of her sentence and make it a predicate adjective in a separate clause, she would be saying a similar thing:
Its all been a mistake, but its been gorgeous.
That's truly a great song, by the way, and I think that I finally understand her point. Gorgeous!
So, Dostoevsky's Idiot, you are not really smart either, if you can't spell Loeb's name properly!
Leopold, Leopold, Leopold, you don't need a comma after the "what's up" because the sentence would not make sense if you removed the "what's up."
Yes, yes, I know, since we have talked upon this topic before, that you like to trangress the language as some kind of weird rebellion against authority, while also indulging your sadomasochistic tendencies by provoking a hostile insult and irritating your reader.
And yet, even though you have these sick ideas about the meanings of a spelling mistake, you are still a softy deep down, because you expect that your reader will benefit from considering herself smarter than you are.
On the other hand, you may just be as sloppy with language as you are in life!
Post a Comment
<< Home