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If I could see as you do……

Ivan Bilibin was a Russian illustrator, especially of folk tales, whose work is beautiful. Russian folk tales can be pretty odd. This must have been one of them. When you work out what’s going on, write me a story, please.

via Sunday Strange microfiction challenge — Jane Dougherty Writes

https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/02/26/sunday-strange-microfiction-challenge-3/

If I could see with the eyes of the dead, I would not waste my youth in fear or lust. I would not cry in the dark but treasure the sharp edge of loneliness.  I would cast off the faith which castigated me for living. I would see what matters instead of relying on magic wishes and futile comparisons. But there were donuts, doe-eyed men and other distractions.

The house of my childhood is now fenced with bones. I cannot enter without their owner’s permission. When they give it, I choose the eyes of the most misunderstood and venture into the woods. They see without pain now and offer me not the rewards of love, peace or prosperity but that of humor.

The picture is from a Russian folktale in which a girl, whose mother has died, escapes the home of Baba Yaga thanks to a blessing from her dead mother, something with which I can identify.

 

 

 

 

 

 

La cite disait au revoir au Gambetta

, alle

Sorry to be late posting. I got carried away with gardening. It’s that time of year when if you miss a couple of weekends the jungle has returned and it’s too late to prune it back. This painting is by Pierre Puvis de Chavannes and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on in it. […]

via Sunday Strange microfiction challenge — Jane Dougherty Writes

My reply:

I am Paris. I starve. Gambetta save my children. We have eaten the horses and the dogs. Death to Bismarck.  You will live forever with a place in my bosom, Place Gambetta.

 

The painting refers most probably to Gambetta leaving Paris in a balloon filled with coal gas from the Paris coal plant. Paris was under siege by the Prussians. He was going to rally the army outside of Paris. The painter frequently worked with allusions, allegory  and metaphor. Found this out on Wikipedia and some French wiki sites regarding the war.

My sister lives just uphill from Place Gambetta in Paris.

In my culture – Tips for eating in the USA

In my culture, we reward the ingestion of nutrients with a non-nutritious dish

In my culture, only the ancient ones are allowed to consume non-nutritious dishes before the nutritious ones. If a nurse attempts to move the non-nutrition out of your reach it is within your rights to kick them.

dessert-far-left

In my culture, there is one meal which is so delicious that many restaurants serve it all day. This meal often includes a salty/sweet/greasy crunchy strip of meat as well as a batter which has been pressed into patterns that can hold a heavenly tree sauce.

In my culture, chocolate can be served in a solid, liquid, puddingish or cake like form. It is also available in an e-cigarette.

In my culture, a pizza can now contain Nutella.

In my culture, what goes in the spring roll, stays in the spring roll.

springroll

In my culture, you can kill someone with raw cookie dough

In my culture, almost everything is better with mix-ins.

In my culture, it is acceptable to sell Nyquil in several different flavors.

In my culture, Oreos lead the way in diversity

In my culture, eating more than your share of donuts may result in being shunned.

In my culture, it is possible to purchase a gourmet garbage meat tube in a roll or on a stick.

In my culture, “artisanal” usually means “rip-off.” It may also mean “Made by hipsters.”

artisan-food-trail-cambridge.png

 

 

 

 

Her teeth

https://sachablack.co.uk/2017/02/15/writespiration-103-52-weeks-in-52-days-week-7/

52 word writing challenge – theme:  The distance between

 

I seek  the wildness of glacial boulders and the crooked country lane. I can’t abide by the measured distance between American teeth. Anything less than an assembly line set is returned to the factory for adjustment. On her deathbed, my mother begged for me, “Her teeth.”  I  lost them forever.

 

Why I have been failing at my plan for World Domination

  1. I’m just too tired to stay up late and tweet evil missives. I haven’t even had enough energy to shovel out the hammock.hammock
  2. When I get mad enough to explode I usually just eat anything in sight or worse yet go out for a walk. What a loser!
  3. It’s so hard to get attention by being cranky up here in Alaska. I can’t explain exactly how crazy one has to be to get media attention. Even then, television reception is so bad I would have to depend on the internet to get my evil plans out. Then, I don’t trust I’ll be able to reassemble after streaming. I’ve seen enough Star Trek to know that the Transporter has had some real bad problems. Bad! I would replace Mr. Scott with an American entrepreneur ASAP, preferably someone who knows nothing about engineering.mr-scottNo more drinking on the job Mr. Scottish!
  4. It’s difficult to find an evil news manipulator in Anchorage. I’m totally willing to be a puppet for a great Svengali but it’s a right wing media graveyard  since Sarah Palin left.
  5. I just don’t feel “Great” enough. I live in “The Great Land”, “The Great White North”, but I feel overshadowed by the attention given melting glaciers. Big deal. It’s not like they’re alive like little baby fetuses.  I need to work on my superlativity. I am the Greatest problem since Global Warming! I may not be greater than Jesus but I am richer. He gave everything away. So stupid.
  6. It is hard to be a world dominator when you are not a 10. I am flat chested. I can never be a 10 and that is so unfair.
  7. I spend excessive time focused on solutions instead of exaggerating problems which would create building blocks of paranoia in the poor people of America’s most dangerous cities where bad, bad people are skulking around neighborhoods without the decency to be wearing fitbits.
  8. I read too much. Such a waste. Stop reading this right now and go out and say and do things based on no information whatsoever. Some day you may even be able to appoint a horse to be Senator or even to The Supreme Court.
  9. original-head-of-caligula

Sunday Strange microfiction challenge

I could hear you coming with your white hair crackling in the wind. I hope you like the new steps. They make the journey easier for both those who wear no shoes and those who wear Prada.
Here’s a lamp. I usually sit in the dark but I keep a few of them handy because I want to encourage visitors and no one eats gluten anymore. I sense there is something in your hands? Is it candy? It’s totally appropriate to make an offering to me. I’m not saying I’m holy but until mysticism is a union occupation , I’ll take what I can get. Sit anywhere. You may want to borrow one of these palm fronds to keep your garments down as I am doing. It’s very breezy living on a mountain top let alone in this drafty hermitage. Last thing I want is to expose myself to a stranger. Also, I don’t want to catch on fire. But I’m nattering on.
I sense you have come for something important so I will dispense with listening to your voice and just read your mind. Ah, you want to know how to exist in this increasingly stupid world? Also are you pregnant? To the first question I say: Act increasingly stupid yourself, but in a mindful kind of Buddhisty sort of way so that no one can fault you. To the second I say, wait a month and see if you get your period. A final reminder: I’m just another gal trying to eke out a living but I can only take donations or else I have to report it as income.  Oooh, full size Reese’s! Come back anytime and do me a favor, tell the next person you see heading up that I absolutely changed your life forever.

Jane Dougherty Writes

See what you make of this decidedly creepy painting by Gabriel von Max

gm-00-lite

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You don’t need a weatherman to tell which way the wind is blowin’

It recently snowed, lots, for three days straight. The news  projected “overcast skies” with zero percent chance of precipitation each day. This photo was shot at the half way point.

house.pngThis is how it can feel anticipating the next four years.

My guess is that the chief weatherperson is on vacation in Hawaii and there is no backup but someone akin to a vice president who looks things up on Wikipedia, Encylopedia Brittanica  or Lands and Peoples from their home in Seattle. Even to Alaskans, Seattle is not the center of the universe.

landslands2lands3

I give the vice president, or whomever, the benefit of the 1955 edition even though the 1932 edition is more colorful.

1932.jpgEverything looks more colorful in the past – the reign of Queen Victoria, the winters of my childhood, the loves and losses. I distrust predicting the future with polls or by use of the vast amount of information available to me. The present continues to surprise me even though I speak to live people. Perhaps that’s because I know myself so poorly.

Only on few occasions do I speak to people without my hidden agenda oozing over my attempts at connection. Why should I expect any different from others? You would think I would have learned this practicing as a therapist but I continue to assume that with enough information I will be able to predict the behavior of others and even improve upon it. This is called grandiosity. Welcome to The American ideal.

I suffer from nostalgia which throw me into fantastical worlds where I am both old and young, safe yet brave, gifted yet of the common man. There are elements of these in both President Trump and Bernie Sanders. It must be difficult in a land of superheroes to elect a practical commander in chief.  Perhaps, the Christian culture fosters the search for a savior instead of a professional paper pusher. I forget that there is no paper anymore, just email, video and tweets.

I delight in ferreting out the B.S on Facebook, in The Huffington Post and The Anchorage Dispatch News. Perhaps those who practice Biblical Exegesis do this habitually or is it just the curse of the depressive? Paid adverts are deleted immediately, any post with a small child or wounded animal pleading not for themselves or their personal freedom but for the plight of their peoples are suspect. Promises and cures are equally annoying. I would enjoy reading that someone lost weight using tricks that would only work for them personally and may not be permanent.  The message is Hope. The command is Faith.

Even when I see many women marching in cute hats I question what I am supposed to feel. If I am honest, I know women used their savings, employed babysitters, and gained a sense of power on Saturday. These are women who vote and yet their vote did not win the election. I am not that interested. It’s good practice for the minority voice to be heard but I care more about the snow. It has fallen in vast amounts. People are mourning. I get it, but what about the snow? It’s still falling. I can be nostalgic and think about the good times we had but my source  is both removed and outdated.

  I am more interested in those who did not attend. Those who disagree, those who don’t vote, those who have an alternative solution to the world’s ills. These are the people who won the last election.  This is the weather I could have foretold by looking out the window in Alaska instead of listening to a weatherperson in Seattle.  It may be too late to get them to listen to me. I approach them not with my political agenda but with my own person, in my own hat. A show of force can be effective in some cases but in others it takes a fool to survive the chaos of the world. Wish me luck.