Friday, April 26, 2024

2 Minutes. Go!

I'll tell you about it. Seems like it was yesterday. Really, it was two days ago. Time flies. What can I say. Or drags? I don't know, that seems like math. Math is not my friend. It stresses me out, makes me feel boxed in and trapped. 

So, anyway. It was a few days ago. A week? Maybe it was a week. Or a few months ago. I'm pretty sure it happened to me, but it could also have been a book I read. A movie I saw. Maybe it was an anecdote I heard, but it happened to someone. At some time. I think.

It wasn't something you can really put into words. It was a feeling...almost like deja vu. It was something that lurked right below the surface of somebody's consciousness. It was a tease in the brain, but it brought feelings that soaked you to the bone. Or me. Somebody got soaked, that's for sure. Somebody is all wet.

You can tell this story if you want. Maybe it happened to me. Maybe you. Maybe no one. Maybe someone we know. You tell the story, and that makes it real. That's the magic. That's a gift that is given to you. And me. And everyone you know.

Tell the story. Make it true. Spread it. Maybe I'll hear it again some day.


  1. The bonfire raged deep into the dark clear night, sparks and embers indistinguishable from stars, a fire fed by pain, by jealousy, by a collective lifetime of distrust and ignorance and hate. Above the flames they hold the one book that they claim to have read, the one that will never be burned. The ones not holding the book bow their heads, press their palms together in prayer. Prayer for the lost souls, prayer to sentence those they hold accountable to an eternity of damnation. They who believe that sacrificing one of their own means that the rest of them will be saved. Long ago they flipped the mirror of “where did we go wrong” and refocused the signal to rain fire on the failures of the world at large for allowing it to happen.

    A lone raven keeps his distance, high in a cottonwood tree. A coyote cries out in impotence, his outrage. Forgive them, says Brother Raven, for they know not what they do.

    They know, says the coyote, which is why I howl.

    1. Yes, they know. Deep in their darkest of hearts they know they've perverted The Word. Jealously stolen that most exalted position of judge & jury. For how could a being so far from this earthly life possibly know what it is to be human and to judge human behavior? Like any human confronted with a greater power than themselves they seek to steal it. To become the powerful one. Only condemning themselves in the process.

      Vent Laurie. Purge. Do it enough and the anger you feel loses its power.

  2. But that’s crazy talk. Crazy like a loon. But it’s not that you’d be short of company if you succumbed to those voices in your head. With their sweet tones, their tempting propositions, the intimate insider knowledge they have of your life. It seems that everything’s another footstep on the road to ruin. That big, broad multi-lane expressway to eternal damnation.

    And then there are those Joes. The holier than thou heroes. You see them on the TV, hawking their morals to the public. Offering everyone a quick buy-in to salvation, paid in any form of negotiable currency – real, virtual, or crypto – acceptable to their accounting department. But those guys are even worse than your inner demons. They’ll promise you it all, and a couple of dozen more. The stairway to heaven, the deluxe route to redemption, with a bunch of sneaky indiscretions they’d be willing to ignore. And with their smiling god with the Dollar bill signs for eyes. He’d be happy to welcome everyone here inside.

  3. Mark, salvation for sale truly is a despicable product.


Please leave comments. Good, bad or ugly. Especially ugly.