All tagged thinly veiled metaphor
Jack sits in a small room. He used to think the room was a lot bigger. It’s not.
Earlier in the year, Tom and Jack kind of went to war against each other. First it was just namecalling and that sort of thing but then Jack keyed Tom's boat and all hell broke loose. Vandalization of property begat slashing of tires and eventually, Tom and Jack, their wives and kids, were routinely out in their yards, hurling shit at one another and generally disturbing everyone on the block.
Human beings are among the most vulnerable creatures on the planet. No armor, no big claws, can't fucking run fast, not particularly strong. Even the strongest man on the planet (you know, the redneck fucker who can pull a tractor with his teeth or hang an anvil from his balls) is just a thin-skinned hot dog meal to a mountain lion.
So we compensate with misdirection.
There are things for us to celebrate but perhaps we should put the party off for a few years while we get our shit together, clean up our own house, and strive to be the country we believed we could be rather than the nation we have become.
The problem with being a sprinter is the misconception that a marathon is just a series of sprints making up twenty-six-point-two miles. It doesn’t work that way. Sprinting uses up all the energy for short term gains and is unsustainable for twenty-six miles in any genuine fashion. A marathon requires planning, patience, and a sense of perseverance that eludes the sprinter.
You grab a bottle of soda and shake it up. You sit it on the counter. You know what’s going to happen when you untwist that cap.
Now imagine a truckload of bottles of soda, all shaken up at the same time, just ready to blow.
It is quite possible now, that McConnell and the republican Senate, Ryan and the republican House, the President, his entire administration — all of them — all of them are going to get away with everything. If so, in the immortal words of C-3PO, “We’re doomed.”
Welcome to the end of Act II, America.
"If you don't live it, it won't come out your horn."
— Charlie Parker
The converse to this Parker quote is that if it comes out your horn, it’s because you lived it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about bias these days. Looking into my own biases and parsing out where, exactly, the playing of my horn is exposing those dark areas of things I cannot get behind no matter how many strident, angry voices tell me to.
What comes out of my horn for some time in recent history is predicated by my experience, thus the quote.
I’m not just telling you about his hair to feel superior. There, but for the grace of God and the lack of an intelligent and stylish woman in my life, go I. I’m no GQ model myself by the way. I don’t even have all my testicles. I promise I’m not punching down.
Others came out and determined that it was breathing but was obviously in its death moment. I stepped closer to see if it would move and it hopped, slightly, to the side causing everyone to spasm.
We laugh because dogs, while often more intelligent than we think, aren't as intelligent as we want them be nor as savvy as those fucking dogs in the movies.
Many dogs never get the urge to chase their tails and, if you've ever tried to teach one that does you understand the near impossibility of it. The dog that chases its tail is blind to the distinctions.
Why do dogs chase their tails, though?
The thing about these “new” societies is that they are “young” societies. Not children, necessarily. Children are fun and challenging but most people are cool with kids. It’s when these societies become “teenagers” that you have to watch them. When a teenager has too much control of a room full of adults, then you have a problem.
America is that teenager.
First of all, I didn’t choose the bald eagle as a symbol for America. Some other blowhard with a quill pen did that. Famously, Ben Franklin thought that the turkey would be a better metaphor. In a letter to his daughter Sarah, in 1784, he explained how he saw the bald eagle as a coward and a thief. He thought the turkey was braver and more honest. So now we have to unpack even more metaphors.
Later, Mark asked me what I thought of his DJ set. This was long past me being fed up, so I told him the truth as delicately as one can tell someone that they were awful. Mark told me he had a gun, then threatened to kill me for “talking shit.” He was serious. I told him, I shit thee not, that he’d have to fucking aim at me first. That was not a nice thing to say, nor smart. But I did.
No I am not afraid of him reading this.
It's too long.