Argonautical Birthing Day

[tree_]

oh to be 3hirty-5ive again

i wish i could remember what i was doing at 35.

killing too many brain cells apparently

[The Argonaut]

I got my vasectomy at age 35...something to think about argo..

Not an issue for me, Doug, but thanks

your boys can't swim?

I have no idea, but at the very least there are no pools in my neighborhood.

[dad]

I got my vasectomy at age 35...something to think about argo..

Not an issue for me, Doug, but thanks

your boys can't swim?

I have no idea, but at the very least there are no pools in my neighborhood.

wow.

[tree_]

I got my vasectomy at age 35...something to think about argo..

Not an issue for me, Doug, but thanks

your boys can't swim?

I have no idea, but at the very least there are no pools in my neighborhood.

not even a kiddie pool? maybe you could afford a $20 inflatable from wal mart?

[The Argonaut]

I got my vasectomy at age 35...something to think about argo..

Not an issue for me, Doug, but thanks

your boys can't swim?

I have no idea, but at the very least there are no pools in my neighborhood.

not even a kiddie pool? maybe you could afford a $20 inflatable from wal mart?

That's disgusting!

[tree_]

*sigh* you lost the metaphor

[The Argonaut]

Well, anyway, thanks to everyonein this thread who has wished me well

[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.

[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.

[dad]

on the third day of Hanukkah, trag?...really?

oy vey...

[tree_]

AI trag was sooo accurate

[Chris_H_2]

Well, anyway, thanks to everyonein this thread who has wished me well

what about those of us that haven't?

[The Argonaut]

Well, anyway, thanks to everyonein this thread who has wished me well

what about those of us that haven't?

You will

[The Argonaut]

, won't you?

[tree_]

happy birthday, Argo, friend. I for one truly hope you have a fantastic day.

[Jorge]

Happy birthday!

[knee tunes]

Dear Argo,

Happy anniversary of the day you sloshed out of your mom.

Love,

knee tunes

[Ello Sailor]

[dad]

Dear Argo,

Happy anniversary of the day you sloshed out of your mom.

Love,

knee tunes

oh man, that sound. i can still hear it to this day.

not Argo's mom, but that sound. ya know...followed by the placenta flying out as if shot from a t-shirt gun.

I hope Argo has had a wonderful day.

[Ello Sailor]

Merry oldness, ya big stud.