flaming strawman

(its supposed to be funny)

I posit that it is positively possible that the Puritans did not separate from the Anglican Church over a difference of opinion concerning predestination, but rather because of an obsession with fire. Only in the new world could they find the isolation and raw fuel they required to experiment with pyromania to their little hearts' content. Even the vanishing of so-called lost colonies can be accounted for by careless wildfires set by religious zealots.  What does the term "Puritan" symbolize, if not an affinity for purifying flame? A flame believed to be bright and pure enough to burn right through the corruption of the Anglican Church for those who stayed behind, or strong and holy enough to burn through the polytheistic beliefs of the savages encountered by the early colonials. I suspect that even the Puritans' own children were subjected to this holy light to burn the demons out of them. It naturally follows that these disfigured children would be embittered by their brutal upbringings and pass their disgruntled legacy on to future generations, paving the way for our selfish, xenophobic society with its greed-based economy.

there should only be greeks

this is an essay i wrote my first semester of college for my composition 1 class. the instructor really liked it. he also liked hemingway, understatement, and animal tragedies.

Summer Job by Brak

I have always wanted to be a veterinarian. As far back as I can remember, I have wanted to be the doctor in the white coat helping the sick and injured animals find their way back to health. I wanted to take care of people's pets and maybe some livestock, too. The summer of my senior year in high school, I got a job as a veterinary assistant and my dreams abruptly changed. I witnessed the dark side to those sparkling white exam rooms, the shiny metal gurneys, and the clean, bleached coat. I learned a lesson I won't ever forget and learned something about myself as well.

            My duties at the clinic were simple: greet the client, ask what needed to be done for their animal, and take them back to the exam room to get the pet's weight and temperature. Then, if it was needed, I would draw up the vaccinations, suck up the liquid into a syringe and squeeze out the air. The bulk of my work was cleaning. I would clean the exam room after every patient, clean the kennels in the back, clean up after dogs in the waiting room if they forgot their housebreaking, and clean whatever else needed a good scrub. It wasn't until I had been working at the veterinarian clinic for a few weeks that I had my change of heart.

            On a sunny afternoon, a family brought in their elderly dog, Pepe, who was suffering a mysterious malady. He had been fine all morning, but took a sudden downhill turn around noon. Pepe was a large poodle, but wasn't groomed poodle-style with all the puffs and bows; it seemed he had been allowed to groom himself for at least a few years with no intervention by scissors or brush. He had probably been white in his youth but was now a dull dirty gray with brown circles under his eyes. Pepe's family, four or five people in all, accompanied him into the exam room. I took their old dog into the back and checked his weight and temperature, and then reunited him with his people. They welcomed him back, and we all waited for the doctor. When the doctor got there, he did his usual examination, asked all the usual questions: Has he been eating anything out of the ordinary? Is he lethargic? How is his appetite? What was he doing right before he got hurt? The family answered quietly, solemnly. I could see that they were scared for their elderly pal. They told the doctor that Pepe had been fine earlier in the day, but later that afternoon had gone around the side of the house, alone, yelped and had been acting strangely ever since. He couldn't walk very well on his own, yelped when he was touched, and had developed misty gray shields in his eyes, cataracts. No one knew the source of the dog's trouble.

            The doctor's brow furrowed in a serious way as he contemplated the family's story. He took a moment to decide how to tell them his diagnosis. The dog was in bad shape. From what the doctor could see and what the family had told him, it appeared that Pepe had either gotten into some poison or been electrocuted. There were procedures that could narrow down the source of the dog's discomfort, and more procedures that could possibly correct whatever was wrong, but it would be costly. The mother and father of the family took a moment to deliberate. How could they pay for it? Would it be worth the cost in the end? Pepe was an old, old dog, after all. Finally, with tears in their eyes, they gave us the verdict. Pepe would have to die. The doctor and I gave them a few moments alone with their ancient pet. The children gathered around to say good-bye as we closed the door. I waited outside the closed door, feeling sorrow of my own. When the door opened, the doctor, a technician, and I led Pepe into the back room where he would draw his last breath. Pepe went quietly, smelling the ground, orienting himself in his new surroundings. Once he was separated from his family, however, things changed.

            I don't know if dogs have a sixth sense, or if someone had told him in a way he could understand that he was going to die, but he knew it and he did not want to go. Once the syringe was filled, that dusty dog found his strength. He struggled with his leash, bucked his head and front paws into the air, and clawed for his life. Breath came out of his nose in high-pitched whines and whistles as he pawed at the doctor, the technician, and me. The family must have heard the commotion because suddenly a little girl was at the door. Pepe's little girl had come to witness his final moments. Her big, scared eyes looked at us with the purest horror. Pepe was bleeding and blood was spraying, flying everywhere. I didn't know where it was coming from; I hadn't noticed any wounds on him when he arrived. That little girl stood in the doorway with a shocked expression on her face for what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two. Finally, the doctor yelled for me to close the door.

            I took the little girl back to her family, Pepe's family. The family left one member short; they exited the clinic while their old buddy was still in his death throes. They took that little girl home without her friend. Pepe struggled mightily for his life. I know because, as an assistant, it was my job to clean up the huge mess he made. He had knocked over a gurney and spilled a few boxes of gauze, but the worst was the blood. He left pieces of himself all over that room. Blood was splattered everywhere, on the walls, the floor, the cabinets. Blood in pools, blood in trickles like tears, blood with fur matted into it was all around. It took three people several hours to clean up after the dog that didn't want to die. He did die, though. He died away from those he loved, with strangers, but he died a brave death. He died fighting. .

After Pepe, I no longer wanted to be a private practice veterinarian. I still loved animals and knew in my heart that medicine was how I wanted to serve them, but I also knew that if I became a doctor for pets, someday a little girl would bring me a dog she loved, a dog like Pepe. This dog would not be beyond help, a car accident victim, a cancer patient. This dog would be within my power to save, but his family wouldn't be able to afford to save him. I realized that I didn't have a strong enough constitution to take the life of an animal when it didn't need to die. Watching Pepe fight so heroically for his life made me realize exactly what it means to be a private practice veterinarian: to have to sometimes put money before love. The doctor was a good man and didn't do anything wrong; he only did what needed to be done. Still, I never wanted to have to do anything like that. I changed my mind about being a private practice doctor then and there. I decided that the place for me was far away from the much loved and coddled pets I originally intended to serve. I wanted to work at an animal shelter from then on, a good, no-kill, Humane Society style animal shelter. From that day forward, I dreamed of a place where pets have no owners, no little girls to stare, terrified as their companion falls, and the killing is done only as a last resort means to end suffering. That's where I belong.

select your handstand

An Untitled Work in a Slightly Skewed Dimension pt. 3 by Brak

Over the next few weeks, it became obvious that Hector had no intention of changing his mind. He moved a full suite of living room furniture into Kay's room, and although the room was enormous, it could not accommodate her bedroom furniture as well, so Kay and her things were forced into the corner. Happily, Kay didn't need to fear any more unwanted advances because Hector never joined her in the bed. He had an odd habit of simply falling asleep wherever he was whether he was standing or sitting or laying down, mid-sentence or mid-meal, he would suddenly lose consciousness and not awaken for hours. Presumably because of this, Hector didn't have a job and instead stayed home with Kay in her room all day. Despite the cramped conditions, it wasn't so bad; as long as Kay didn't stand in front of the television, Hector barely seemed to know she existed. He only ever called on her to bring him a cold beer or another bag of corn chips: the two staples of his diet. Otherwise, Kay continued life just as before. She spent most days on her bed amidst her furniture pile reading, or painting (she'd hidden her easel in the closet) and, even though she could no longer watch the Happy Trees painting show because Hector despised it, her technique was improving.

Other days, she would wander down to the music room and practice various instruments her father had collected but never played (he was far too busy) or into the home gym her father had had custom designed, but hadn't yet gotten around to trying out, or into the magnificent library which was also untouched. The only danger in wandering the house was that she would meet someone else, either one of the household staff who always tried their best to be rude, or one of her parents who would scold her for leaving her husband alone for too long and admonish her to go make grandbabies immediately! She much preferred her little pile of furniture to that risk, so usually took what she needed from other rooms (corn chips, dumb bells, books, or violin) and hurried back to her cozy jumble in the corner.

One day, in the middle of fall, when Kay knew her parents weren't home, she dared to stay out of her room for nearly five hours. She thought it would be a nice vacation from the usual monotony if she treated herself to a longer stay in each of her favorite rooms and finished the day relaxing in front of the screen in her father's home theater, the only one of his rooms that he actually frequented. Kay enjoyed her full day of leisure and didn't even run into a cook or a maid or a butler once. She returned to her room in high spirits which were quickly dashed once she opened the door.

"Where are my things?" Kay yelped, for all her belongings had vanished from the room.

"Threw them out," mumbled Hector from around a mouthful of corn chips, "Had to make room for this."

"And what is that?"

"Its great isn't it?" Hector beamed proudly at her from a pool-side lounge chair he had planted in the middle of a wading pool filled with corn chips. All his furniture had been pushed back to make way for this abominable snack food container in front of the television. Kay was debating whether she should shout or try to appeal to his sense of reason (if he had one at all) when Hector, once again, passed out.

Kay, sighing deeply, went to take refuge in a long bath. The hot water was only comforting in theory and Kay emerged from the bathroom just as frustrated as she had been when she entered. Since it was late and there was nothing else to do, Kay curled up on one of Hector's sofas and fell asleep. After what seemed like only minutes, she was awakened by a sharp slap to the face. "What the..?" Kay exclaimed, bolting up. Her bleary eyes were confronted with an incensed Hector who shouted, "You can't use my couch, you big retard!"

"Why not? You took my bed away."

"That still doesn't mean you can sleep here! This is mine! You have no right to even touch it, stupid pig-faced woman!"

"Where am I supposed to sleep then?"

At this, Hector clenched his jaw, scowled at her, picked up a throw pillow, tossed it into the closet, and gestured after it. "You need to learn to respect the possession of a person's personal belongings!" Hector spat as he lifted Kay up and threw her after the pillow. The door came slamming shut before Kay could even make a move towards it. She heard the lock her mother had had installed to keep the maids from snooping click followed by an unearthly howl, "I NEED MORE BEER!" and Hector's heavy footsteps as he exited the room in search of his foamy friend. Kay was consumed by despair. She knew she was too small to try beating down the door and that it was useless screaming for help. Who would hear her? Her parents weren't home, and the cruel servants would be only too glad to find Kay in such a vulnerable position. No, Kay thought, better to just go to sleep and try to sort things out in the morning. She curled up on the triple plush carpet with her goose down throw pillow and was soon in dream land.

            Hector came to wake her up once again, but with a kick instead of a slap this time. Kay gasped awake and scurried back from the source of her pain. Hector stood glowering over her. "Get out of the closet, bitch." he sneered. Kay, terrified, scrambled out on hands and knees. She tried to stand, but Hector pushed her down again, gripped her leg with his hairy hand, tore off her socks as she struggled, and began slashing at her feet with a bread knife. "You must learn about possession!" he cried, obviously drunk. "Hector, what are you doing?"  Kay inquired, but Hector was already asleep. Kay kicked herself free of Hector and ran down to the front room to wait for her parents to return. She would just have to tell them that the marriage wasn't working out. She knew her parents would be disappointed that she wasn't enjoying their latest gift, but surely, a week spent with Dr. Lackhanger, or any other punishment they could devise, would be less distressing than a lifetime spent with Hector.

            It didn't take long for her mother and father to arrive and, after they'd given their luggage to the butlers to be unpacked and put away, Kay nervously approached them. Before she could even get a word out, her mother was already shouting, "Where is Hector?! Don't you know he needs you? You must go! Go now and find him and make grandbabies! You can't be down here with us! Shoo!" But Kay, for once, stood firm against her mother, "No, Mother, I'm not going back to Hector. I'm sorry to be so rude, but I really cannot spend the rest of my life with him. I want this marriage annulled and I want him to leave. Please." As Kay's mother listened she grimaced and scowled, but when it came time for her to respond, her face broke into an enormous grin and she said, "Don't worry, honey! I'll take care of everything. Go shower and get dressed and when you come back, I'll have it all done."

            "Really?"

            "Of course!"

            Rather than go back to her room and confront Hector, Kay stopped by the laundry room to pick up some of her clothes and used the downstairs bathroom to shower. She sang out her jubilation under the warm waterfall. Finally, she would have her old life back! The household staff would no longer torment her, Hector would be gone, and maybe she'd be allowed to take another ride to the park with Art once she didn't have to spend her days pretending to make grandbabies and fetching endless beers and bags of corn chips. Kay practically sashayed back into the front room, her wet hair swishing happily behind her. She walked around the great chair, expecting to find her mother seated there, but was instead startled by Dr. Lackhanger. He leapt up suddenly, grasped her by the shoulders and began shaking her emphatically. "You ungrateful little bitch!" he snarled, "This time you have truly gone too far! Rejecting a Barbie Dream House, an object any girl would throw herself on knives for is evil enough, but to scorn such a loving, wonderful husband you must have a terribly hate-filled soul! You are coming with me to my experimental residential program. There we will give you all the ice it takes to cool your repressed anger and subject you to as many aesthetic alterations as you need to get a firmer grip on your self worth. For it is only once you love yourself, that you can begin to love and appreciate others!" Kay struggled mightily, but she was no match for the doctor. He pushed and pulled and finally, carried her right to the front door, but he couldn't drag her out of her house because she gripped the bronze door handle and would not let go. "But I don't want plastic surgery!" she cried, "I like myself just the way I am!"  

           "Nonsense," Dr. Lackhanger countered," your behavior betrays your insanity. Perhaps once you have larger breasts and a smaller nose, you will come to understand what it means to be a good wife." As Dr. Lackhanger repositioned himself to get a better hold on Kay, her leg slipped down and she kicked him hard. He collapsed with an "Oof!" and Kay ran away from him, and her home, as fast as she could go. Her mother, who had been keeping a respectful distance during the struggle, suddenly ran forward and called after Kay, "We only want what's best for you!"

...and that's all i wrote

change the meaning of potato

An Untitled Work in a Slightly Skewed Dimension, pt. 2 by Brak

Indeed, Kay spent most days on her own since the departure of her "friends" as her mother called them, who were actually household servants her parents had bribed to spend extra time with Kay. There had been a tutor, Mr. Leftwig, who was delighted whenever Kay made a mistake in her lessons because it gave him license to smack her with his unusually hefty ruler, a practice her parents believed would build character. Of course, after being maliciously attacked with a ruler, which more resembled a cricket bat than an actual ruler, Kay would often be so frightened that she would forget whatever she had just learned and make even more mistakes and be beaten even more severely.

In fact, on one occasion, Mr. Leftwig had thrashed her so brutally that a doctor had to be called. When the doctor arrived, he addressed Kay as a "tempestuous little cow" and ordered her, with much profanity, to overdose on narcotics. Kay, being a mere child at the time, soon lost consciousness. When she woke up, she found herself in her bed, but even though her head was bandaged, her ankle splinted, and her arm in a cast, she discovered she had even more bruises and aches than when she had passed out. Furthermore, she reeked like a barnyard.

There had also been a maid, Lee, who tormented Kay by safety pinning live insects and small rodents to Kay's freshly laundered clothing. Lee also found it hilarious to lift the long skirt of her uniform and show Kay her pimply rear at any given moment. Mr. Leftwig, and the butler, Carter always seemed quite pleased when Lee behaved in this way around them and clapped and cheered to encourage her, but Kay found the whole spectacle distasteful. She said as much once, but Carter taught her to hold her tongue by dangling her out of her third story window by her shoes. Yes, some friends they were. "Bunch of creeps and lunatics." muttered Kay as she wandered among the trees on the far side of the park.

"Who are creeps and lunatics, darling?" inquired Kay's mother as she appeared from behind an ancient oak tree.

"No one mother." Kay stuttered in shock, "I said 'bears munch creeks and arithmetic.' What are you doing here?"

"They certainly do, darling. I just stopped by because Art called and said you had a little trouble with the locals."

"No, Mother. It wasn't trouble. It was just… it was nothing."

"It's all right sweetie, I understand. It must be difficult for you trying to get along with others when you've had such a fine upbringing and they've been living in squalor with druggies and whores. They must be awfully jealous of your fortune at having two adoring parents, and jealousy often expresses itself as rage."

"I don't think there was any r…" Kay began, but her mother interrupted her, "No, dear, don't try to protect them. They aren't your friends and they never will be. But don't worry, that's no reason for you to be lonely and blue. Come home with me now. I've got a surprise!"

Kay very much wanted to continue wandering among the trees, smelling the green air and enjoying the solid security of bark and branches, but her mother was very insistent and it was no use arguing with her.  As soon as Kay moved towards her mother, Art burst out from behind a thicket of vines, tackled Kay, forced her to the ground and bound her wrists behind her back. Kay's mother, kneeling before her perplexed face, slipped a blindfold over Kay's eyes saying, "Its not a surprise if you peek!" Kay's mother kept up a constant excited twittering as Art helped Kay to her feet and escorted her back to the car.

In stark contrast with the exhilaration Kay had felt during her first drive out, the drive home felt like a defeat. Instead of being enraptured by the colors and motion of everyday life, Kay could only make out shadows at the bottom of her blindfold. Kay was still in this spirit of bewildered despair when her mother and Art led her into the front room and sat her on the suede couch.

"Dear Kay," sighed her mother, "You have been such a lovely daughter to me and I cannot bear to see you moping around in such a lonesome way any longer."

'When have I moped,' thought Kay, 'and when have you been around to see it?' but, of course, she didn't dare say anything.

"Take off her blindfold!!" squealed Kay's mother, and the light hit Kay's eyes like a lost bird hits a window. She tried to raise her arm to shield the glare, but her wrists were still bound, so she made do with squinting. Through her halogen-tortured eyes, Kay could barely discern her mother and father standing together with something… someone? between them. A man? Art? Who else could it be but Art? As Kay's pupils adjusted, she realized that the man was a stranger. Her mother, who was practically vibrating with excitement, rushed forward and screamed in Kay's face, "Your new husband!! Surprise!!" The feeling of bewildered despair intensified as Kay's mother continued, "I know you aren't even 18 yet, so it's a bit early, but I asked a favor of the Judge and he allowed me to sign the marriage certificate for you."

Kay's mouth opened and closed in shock as she fumbled for the appropriate thing to say. She just wanted to run away, so she stood up, planning to seek refuge in the kitchen, but before she could move was embraced by her father. He had never so much as shaken her hand for her entire life, but now he was pulling her close and playfully swatting her bum. When she was released from that supremely awkward hug, Kay stumbled and fell back on the sofa. Apparently misinterpreting her prone position as an invitation, her New Husband fell on her like a starved wolf and began slurping at her face.

"Oh goody! Grandchildren!" squealed Kay's mother as she hastily ushered Kay's father out of the room and followed him, giggling. Kay squeaked her protests through mouthfuls of tongue and tried her best to defend herself without the use of her arms, which were still bound. Fortunately, defense proved unnecessary because the New Husband suddenly fell asleep mid-lick and rolled off Kay to snore loudly on the floor. Kay cautiously got to her feet and, discovering that her restraints had loosened during the excitement, carefully slipped her hands free of the knot. Kay began a hasty tip-toed retreat, but stopped when a paper on the coffee table caught her eye. It was a marriage certificate, apparently legitimate, signed by herself and a Hector Marmont. Kay dropped the paper in disgust and hurriedly resumed her stealthy exit.

Kay locked and barricaded the door of the downstairs bathroom with the armchair and end table her mother had insisted on placing in that oversized room to make it more comfortable. Kay curled up, fully clothed, in the immense Whirlpool bathtub and wept. What was she to do? She didn't want to be married, especially to a stranger, but to go against her mother's wishes was unthinkable. Her mother would certainly call Dr. Lackhanger right away for another therapy session, and that was bad enough, but Kay feared that the severity of her disobedience might force them to take extreme measures. The rejection of her husband would assuredly be viewed as a larger offense than the rejection of a wristwatch or a designer gown, and Kay couldn't even begin to imagine what her parents might deem an appropriate countermeasure against such a travesty. The only way she could avoid punishment was to leave her home entirely. This option produced an equal amount of anxieties because Kay had barely even been outside her house since she was born. She had no friends or even acquaintances outside the walls of her home, no allies to call upon for help. To think that a naive girl like Kay could find her way all alone in an unknown world was preposterous. Kay concluded that her only option was to go along with the marriage and try to make the best of it. Perhaps Hector was a reasonable man and she could simply explain that she wasn't ready to be married and ask him to leave.

Kay washed her tearstained face, took a deep breath and walked back into the front room. Hector was fully awake and sitting up on the sofa when Kay returned. "Hector?" she ventured, "Its been very pleasant to meet you, but seeing as how I'm underage and we barely even know each other, don't you think perhaps it would be best if we annulled this marriage?"

"I was promised a wife and that's what I'm going to have. Now get me some corn chips, I'm hungry!" retorted Hector.

"But don't you think marriage is a big decision that should be carefully considered beforehand by both people?"

"No." replied Hector and that's all he would say no mater how Kay pleaded with him.

say you really like shrimp, or say you don't relaly like shrimp at all

i got stuck in bed a few days ago and my books were in a different room so i amused myself by creating a story with paper and pen. its long, so i'm posting it in chapters. i make my own grammar rules.

An Untitled Work in a Slightly Skewed Dimension by Brak

Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Kay. She was born into a wealthy, royal family. Not quite as royal and wealthy as a king or even a duke, more like a second cousin twice removed of the Jester, but still fairly well off and respected. However, Kay's marginally wealthy and royal parents were hardly ever around, choosing to show their affection through elaborate gifts rather than with actual affection. Unfortunately, the people who were around weren't very nice and, as a result of constantly having her trust betrayed, Kay became introverted and odd. To escape her maniacal "friends" she would lock herself in her room for days on end. Eventually, her tormentors grew weary of her prolonged disappearances and wandered off to find a less troublesome quarry.

            After a very great while, her parents noticed the absence of shouts (which they always assumed were in fun) coming from Kay's part of the house, and they ventured out to investigate. They found Kay in her room taking advantage of the silence by learning to paint from a television program about a soft-spoken man with an afro. Kay's mother opened the door and addressed Kay from the threshold, "Kay, darling, where have all your friends gone?"

            "They've all run off."

            "That's dreadful, dear! Is there anything we can get you to help ease your suffering?"

            "Well, actually, Mother, I'd like to go outdoors and see some real happy little trees."

            At this pronouncement, Kay's mother was quite shocked. Kay had never been outside and had never showed any interest in going, always contenting herself with the large, although treeless, courtyard in the center of the house. Kay's mother perplexedly inquired why Kay would ever want to risk being out of doors, "Why, there are bees and squirrels and grass stains and all manner of other tragedies out there!" she exclaimed.

            "I know," countered Kay, "but I still want to go."

            "All right, as long as I don't have to go with you. I have far too many important things to do today and can't be bothered to go traipsing about among the trees. But, Kay, please let me to buy you a car so you have at least some form of refuge from the elements."

            Kay would have much rather walked out among the trees instead of whizzing by them in a car, but she knew from experience that refusing her parents' gifts was a bad idea. It made them feel inadequate and, whenever they suspected they were doing a poor job raising her, Kay always got landed in a weeklong therapy session. There, the therapist, Dr. Lackhanger, would keep her locked in a tiny room and spend hours at a time shouting at her that she was an ungrateful bitch and force feeding her novelty shaped ice cubes to "help cool her rage" as he explained to her parents when asked about his techniques. Finally, an exhausted and confused Kay would be returned to her house with Dr. Lackhanger's suggestion to try plastic surgery as a means of improving her poor self esteem. He would then collect a large wad of cash from her tearfully grateful parents and disappear until the next time Kay seemed less than enthusiastic about accepting a material good as a substitution for parental love. So, Kay delightedly accepted the car and was off.

            Of course, having been housebound her entire life, Kay didn't know how to drive. Her mother thoughtfully solved with dilemma by assigning Kay a driver, an old man named Art who was so still and glassy-eyed that Kay at first thought he was a robot. Kay's desire to be outdoors soon quelled any doubts she had about Art's humanity, at least enough that she was able to get into the car and request a destination, "I want to see some happy little trees, Art. Please." Art gave a sharp nod and quickly, but carefully, got the car on the road.

Naturally, Kay was overwhelmed by the vastness and diversity of her surroundings and spent the short drive with her nose pressed to the window. There! A house! And over there! A terrier! And children playing in the sprinklers while being solicited by perverts on a fine summer's day! To Kay, the whole world was bright and glowing and joyous. Even the spectacle of a flea-ridden cat lady being pelted with empty cans by her neighbors as they vociferously threatened to call animal control was a delight to Kay's starved senses. Then finally, they arrived at the park.

Art flawlessly parallel parked the car between a lamp post and a dump truck but, even though the smell was putrefying, Kay was so overcome by a certain terrified thrill that she could not bring herself to exit the vehicle. Instead, she continued peering hungrily through the passenger-side window, drinking in the exotic scenery. It was an early summer day with a mild breeze, so there were quite a few people enjoying the sunshine. Mothers with tiny babies sat on benches or strolled along the paved track pushing carriages, and gossiping with one another. Elderly women shuffled about throwing breadcrumbs to pigeons and squirrels as their husbands reclined in lawn chairs with their newspapers. Toddlers and younger children scurried about the playground getting their first taste of that childhood delicacy, sand. And swaying above it all was a canopy of gorgeous trees: oak and maple, spruce and juniper, some big, some small, but all happy. Oh, happy, happy trees!

At this thought, Kay forgot her anxiety completely, flung open the door of her shiny, new car, raced across the grass and threw herself on the first tree she came to, passionately embracing it and delighting at the rough texture of bark against her cheek, the smell of sap, and the soft swish of leaves in the wind. "Oh, happy, happy tree!" Kay sighed.

The tree giggled in response. No, not the tree, but a girl about Kay's own age sitting under a nearby maple with a group of other young people. Soon, the giggling girl burst into peals of laughter which were joined by guffaws from her compatriots. Kay was not dismayed; she had seen sitcoms on her big screen T.V. and knew that hugging a tree was considered comical behavior. She had also learned from television how to address her peers, and although she was usually quite shy, in her tree-fueled glee, she decided to give it a go. She loosened herself from the tree, turned to face the others who had mostly stopped laughing and declared, "Whuzz up? This is a frickin' beautiful tree!"

"Freak!" was the only response she got as the group quickly evacuated the area. Kay was puzzled. Had she not addressed them in the proper vernacular? She decided to ask Art who had doubtless witnessed the event and, being older and more world-wise might be able to shed some light. Kay walked back to the car and found Art with his hands still on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead with his unblinking, doll-like eyes. "Art?" Kay began, but when there was no reaction, followed up with a tap on the windshield. When Art still did not respond, Kay reached through the open window and tapped him on the forehead. He didn't flinch or even blink. After being twice rejected, once by the giggling girl's group and again by Art, Kay decided today was a day best spent alone and wandered off to the more densely forested area of the park.

deceptions are more frequent than changes

 
i figured since i'm being forced to live in a Kafka novel, i may as well acquaint myself with my surroundings.

Kafkaesque:
1. of or relating to Franz Kafka or his writing
2. marked by surreal distortion and often a sense of impending danger.

huzzah!

i finished my cotton crazy quilt today. so, as promised, here is a picture. 
its 90" x 110" with a lavender backing and royal blue binding (they were out of black). i hand-tied it with this fuzzy yarn-like string i found in my old craft box. i'm calling it Kitty; short, sweet, and aptly descriptive.