GeneP59 wrote: 
Was it an old Canadian grey goose? Because if it was...

I was scratching my nose
When I stepped on the hose
And water sprayed up so high
It knocked the Grey Goose to the ground

Hip hop pop til you drop your bop

ET phone honed

"If, for a while, the ruse of desire is calculable for the uses of discipline soon the repetition of guilt, justification, pseudo-scientific theories, superstition, spurious authorities, and classifications can be seen as the desperate effort to "normalize" formally the disturbance of a discourse of splitting that violates the rational, enlightened claims of its enunciatory modality."

 Proclivities wrote:

 Red_Dragon wrote:

Wait. Don't forget about the rooster on the mailbox at the corner of that yuge oak. You CAN miss it.

 GeneP59 wrote:

take a right at the light keep on straight until night and then boys you're on your own

I took a left and a hard right and then drove straight into the moonlight.

"I certainly wish you would have invented a more reasonable story. I felt distinctly like an idiot repeating it."

"Don't worry about the story's goofiness. A sensible one would have had us all in the cooler."

purple

A quote attributed to the 13th century Persian Poet, Rumi, indicates that, "The wound is the place where the Light enters you."
Seemingly of being, I initially read that as the 'womb'. It made sense to me either way but I wasn't about to get wound up in that argument...

Rights are pretty much debatable. Who what when where and why. Work in some how to and here to for and a forge and you have the makings.
Life and death? Pretty much set in stone. Is what is and was what was. Good day and good night. Or bad, depending on the lay and sway or swing and wing...

Onions are the great equalizer...

Projection is nine tenths of the jaw...

 oldviolin wrote:

What if cinder blocks were made out of actual cinders? What would be left to block up, out, or in...

So do photographs of ones self actually steal the soul or just open a window to it when beheld in a confusing gaze?

How the look of jealousy, combined with sarcasm, substituted those of love and bashfulness! How the titter of tainted mockery rang throughout the entire apartment, and could hardly fail to catch the ear of her whose queenly appearance occasioned it! These looks and taunts serving to convince Sir John of Nature’s fragile cloak which covers too often the image of indignation and false show, and seals within the breasts of honour and equality resolutions of an iron mould. On being introduced to Irene, Sir John concluded instantly, without instituting further 19 inquiry, that this must be the original of the portrait so warmly admired by him. There she stood, an image of perfection and divine beauty, attired in a robe of richest snowy tint, relieved here and there by a few tiny sprigs of the most dainty maidenhair fern, without any ornaments whatever, save a diamond necklet of famous sparkling lustre and priceless value.

“Beauty should be edible, or not at all.”
― Salvador Dalí