Red Mosquito

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Jorge wrote:So are you... so what do you say?

Give them to me

96583UP wrote:

Rangi Guy wrote:

96583UP wrote:

Rangi Guy wrote:

96583UP wrote:

Rangi Guy wrote:First day today at the campsite. Pretty sure I'm horribly sunburned, and I've probably drank my bodyweight this evening. Been a good time so far

nice!

any weirdos at the campsite?

Just me!

nice

do you wake up every morning and grease up your torso with animal fat from the creature you stalked the night before and fell with a bow and arrow?

Funny. I was just talking with my daughter yesterday about going wild boar hunting with a bow. She's been stalking around the site with her toy Nerf bow and arrow set

amazing

you could also pull a fish out of the riverbed and bite into it live in an act of alpha predator triumph

Jorge wrote:

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Jorge wrote:So are you... so what do you say?

Give them to me

What are you gonna do with them?!

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Jorge wrote:

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

Jorge wrote:So are you... so what do you say?

Give them to me

What are you gonna do with them?!

Give them back to you

Higgs wrote: Sitting here again now the nurse just told me I'm a "good son" and she must be a "good mother". That was nice, ngl.

Carl Sandburg wrote: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.