Talk about your day thread

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

returning. I guess early high school was the last time I used it.

You went to high school?

[BurtReynolds]

returning. I guess early high school was the last time I used it.

You went to high school?

Barely.

[dad]

can't even recall the last time i wrote an entire sentence in cursive.

[JuanHamm]

I grew up in England so I never learned cursive. For some reason in England they focused on skills that were actually useful.

[doug rr]

probably junior high for me...my signature doesn't count because its just chicken scratch

[spike]

I grew up in England so I never learned cursive. For some reason in England they focused on skills that were actually useful.

Do you sign your name as an X?

[dad]

I grew up in England so I never learned cursive. For some reason in England they focused on skills that were actually useful.

like making a cup of tea?

[dad]

perhaps colonization. that's useful.

[JuanHamm]

I grew up in England so I never learned cursive. For some reason in England they focused on skills that were actually useful.

Do you sign your name as an X?

I just do a random scribble. I don't actually have a signature.

[JuanHamm]

perhaps colonization. that's useful.

Whose side are you on, guy?

[dad]

perhaps colonization. that's useful.

Whose side are you on, guy?

i'm not sure i know anymore.

everything is so confusing. i don't know who or what to believe.

[Chris_H_2]

perhaps colonization. that's useful.

[Jorge]

My girlfriend is a tiny, tiny person, and as you all know I am a quite large man. We look funny standing next to each other. It's not unusual for us to get comments about it when we meet new people or even when we down the street together. My girlfriend is also considerably more attractive than me, so there's even been a few instances of playful ribbing about that, especially from older Argentine men, along the lines of "what are you doing with this chump?" This is to say, we've become used to laughing politely and moving right along whenever some weird older stranger decides to toss us a comment that skirts the line of appropriateness, but we got a really weird one today. We were walking down the street hand in hand when this lady walking her dog, probably in her 60s, asked (in Spanish) "are you two a couple?" We said yep and she got a really weird look in her eyes ane said "boy you two must have FUN together!"

It was extremely creepy to be honest

[spike]

Is she a spinner?

[Jorge]

A wha

[dad]

do you think she meant you two have fun on the seesaw at the playground?

[Ello Sailor]

When did Spike get so creepy? Wtf bud.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Jorge]

It felt creepy and sexual to me