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Screaming obscenities at those (mostly left-wing) Pedagogues, does indeed, inflame the fragile blood-vessel, platelet surfaces.

Gods, way more than practicing Yoga.

Your own health is more important than any others (points of view) who care-not if you live or breathe.

Vote your conscience and go home quietly, peacefully.
 

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May cheating lovers flourish on TAM in 2021.

Anything, to steer our minds away from the politics of corruption.

AMEN, not meant a reference to women.
 

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I posted this some time back, somewhere, I forget...

A true story, yes.
...............................................................................................




I met a lady…

I met a lady on Saturday, Saturn’s Day.

I was riding my mountain bike, on flat ground, very near a river.

This was in a state park, and was also a bridal trail, yet I saw no brides.

Or, did I.

I met a lady today on this, just past Saturday.
While riding I noted a lady sitting on a single park bench, facing the river.

While she was yet, far off, I noted that she wore a white dress, a full length, a long white dress.

It was a dress, not one for the weather, not one for the era.

I believe she saw me coming, as her head appeared to be looking my way, maybe waiting for someone, surely not me.

Or, was she.

I would pass to her rear, as the trail was not more than twenty feet.

As I neared I noticed some trash that some fishermen had left behind.
I also noted some footprints.

The footprints were, footprints, not shoeprints, not boot prints.

While looking, still and surely her way, I hit a large tree root that was impossible to miss. One, that I had never seen before.

I have gone down this trail on many occasions and never saw the root that was never there before.

I hit it and I got tossed, like a ragdoll, my heels passed over my head and I landed flat square in the mud.

My butt was buried at least for inches in the ooey, gooey mud.
This, on the side of the trail.

My tailbone hurt like the ****ens, my pride stung like twain.

I looked up and the lady was standing before me.

“I knew you would come, da last time(s) we met, you a keep goin”.

I met a lady today, on Saturday, Saturn’s Day.

She was spot on, a spot taken over in my memory.
It had been at least four times that I crossed paths with her, never quite falling.

I did a lot of running during my lunch hour, at one place, I once worked. Always at the same time, 12 midnight to just before 1:00 AM.
Part of the loop that I traced with my sometimes summer hot feet, and sometimes icy feet in the winter, stood a grave yard.

A Catholic graveyard of immense size. Yes, I have relatives buried there.

My first encounter with this lady who appeared before me, was on a very, very foggy night, on a cloudy night in October. I put the time at say, 12:30 AM, or so.

So, I say, I calculate.

I came upon her standing on the sidewalk, blocking my path for sure.
Being young and nimble, I jumped sideways five feet and avoided coming in contact with her.

She said nothing at first, and then said, “Wait, wait, I ‘needa’ talk with you”. Her words were slurred, not outright sounding.

Being a combat vet and not a fool, I begged off and said my goodbyes. I ran that first 100 meters in eleven-point-five seconds flat.

Weeks later, I ran into her again, at another entrance to the same huge cemetery.

After that, I purposely crossed the street and ran on that side for two or more years. That side housed ****** tonks and strip joints.

I do not know what was worse? The lady ghost or the crazy drunks, oh, or the hungry prostitutes?

Other nights she could often be seen off in the distance, deep in the cemetery, but she never crossed the street and showed her face to the storefronts that lined that side of the road.


The meaning of this erstwhile meeting in that park, on that last Saturday, was to set things in place. To set things right for her, whereas, out of place, out of life for me.

I met a lady on Saturday, Saturn’s day.

The lady had that same white gown on.

The front side was very clean but musty in appearance. She had an odor about her, she smelled like damp clay.

I noticed that the back side of her gown was yellowy brown and dirty. It was very wrinkly and it remained pressed tightly to her back, and it stuck tight to the backside of her legs.

I looked up on the other side of the river and I noticed an old abandoned graveyard, topside of the opposing bank. I do remember seeing it before, but it had no significance as it did that day.

That Saturday.

She bent over as if to touch me. I rapidly rolled away and got up and ran.

When I turned around she was gone. I went back and recovered by bicycle, its front wheel, now bent.

I forced it as straight as I could and rode it, wobbling back and forth to my waiting truck.


I met a lady on Saturday.
I met her again.
I did.

A true story.

THRD- from his archives
 

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Wavering is a sign of indecision.
Maybe it is a sign of a weak mind.

It could also be a sign of one’s conscience refusing to sign off on one’s preferred decision.
A selfish decision not derived from a selfless place.
 

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Empathy is another man's woes, now your clothes.
 

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You cannot claim that which you do not own, that which you did not earn.
You may hold these things, albeit ownership is given (freely?) to its present, rightful and temporary owner.

When given, ownership is an Honorary Degree of possession.
Not one earned, one hopefully, possibly deserved.

Those that win the lottery did not earn the cash, they were given the honor of spending it.
Fate is your lottery. The lottery that is stingy with its winning.
 

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If beauty is a gift, what is plainness?
Plainness is the majority of the gift.

The best lips kissed are those plain.
They plainly appreciate, more those kisses.
 

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Discussion Starter #1,248
It is safer and more rewarding to kiss the inner woman.
As the outer woman is vain, the inner one is plain sane.
 

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Discussion Starter #1,249
It is said that all humans are better loved in the dark.
Why is it any different in the light?
In the dark, there are no smirks seen, nor any smurfs.
 

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Discussion Starter #1,250
In the dark there are no rolls, just curves.
In the dark there are no flat expanses, just bumps in the night.
 

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You are what creates you, what brings you into life, into light.

You are what kills you, and what you are changed into.

You are this Creation, this changing.

You are this ,this same God, Who through you, changes.
 

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Discussion Starter #1,252
Hah!

We are the manifestation of God.
Mankind, some not.
 

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Discussion Starter #1,253 (Edited)
All about me is mad chaos.
All about me is sad pathos.

All about me is gritty glitter.
All about me are those who flitter and twitter.

There is no seriousness to life, save in love making.
Lovemaking is our feeling, our heat, naked baking.
 

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One, our past quip...

................................................................

Old dynamite sweats.
Sweats bullets, sweats nitroglycerine.

If jarred, struck, shaken hard, it explodes.
It blows up all targets within range.

Old secrets sweat.
Sweats bullets, sweats nightmares.

If the memory of them are jarred, they let loose.
The target is blown up, it’s held outrage sent downrange.
 
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Discussion Starter #1,255 (Edited)
There are no prettier lips than those felt kind.
Kissing those lips transfers that kind feeling
 

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Discussion Starter #1,256
High Hopes, Low Expectations.
A one night stand , steeped in, soon-over ecstasy.

From low expectations, expect many to end as did Miss Havisham's, Great Expectation.
In his high expectation, Pip was double-crossed and double-played by, not his peers, and their low expectations.
 

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If only those pleasurable one-night stands,laid in one's memory, but one night.
The day-afters guilt lays down all those pleasures to dirt.

It goes to show, one's pleasure buttons have different roots than one's rebooted memories.
We all love to be stroked, but not to be later choked with shame.
 

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It is those with no shame that seem to enjoy life the most, with them, plainly living in flame.
 

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The usual is used by all to define life.
Life is as usual as unusual remains undefined.
 
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Discussion Starter #1,260 (Edited)
Strength is always relative.
Weakness can reside in a relative phrase.
 
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