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That Is The Real
That is the real is the
that: seven words and two
dots; and now we're so
far into a sentence that
we're committed, or
should be, or should send it
to a committee for review.
Let's start fresh with you,
your nostrils, the things
around you right now
that stand for the world:
that for you is the real,
that is.
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Some Fable-Days
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Some Fable-Days
For ten minutes one afternoon, I became
an elephant. I walked heavily away from
where I work, wagging my heavy head.
Cackling minions threw pebbles at my
sad ass. On another day, I became a cat:
Somebody was talking at me in front
of a group, apparently scoring clever points.
But I'd lost the topic, and word-like noises
from her mouth might as well have been
red jello for all the sense they made to me.
So I stared. I was Cat--there and not there,
dozing in the pride of my mind, not hungry
and therefore supremely disinterested.
I've spent many days as a badger, digging,
fretting, rooting around, growling to myself,
making a lovely mess of my underground
burrow, getting lots of badger-writing done.
Some fable-days, I tell you, are often
just what a human being needs--to stay human.
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
)
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Some Fable-Days
For ten minutes one afternoon, I became
an elephant. I walked heavily away from
where I work, wagging my heavy head.
Cackling minions threw pebbles at my
sad ass. On another day, I became a cat:
Somebody was talking at me in front
of a group, apparently scoring clever points.
But I'd lost the topic, and word-like noises
from her mouth might as well have been
red jello for all the sense they made to me.
So I stared. I was Cat--there and not there,
dozing in the pride of my mind, not hungry
and therefore supremely disinterested.
I've spent many days as a badger, digging,
fretting, rooting around, growling to myself,
making a lovely mess of my underground
burrow, getting lots of badger-writing done.
Some fable-days, I tell you, are often
just what a human being needs--to stay human.
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
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