Red Mosquito

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.

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

can you get all the broncos owners in one room and ask them to spill the beans and what the f*cks going on with all the money you have?

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

can you get all the broncos owners in one room and ask them to spill the beans and what the f*cks going on with all the money you have?

I can’t care about those fools when the Nuggets are playing so well.

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

can you get all the broncos owners in one room and ask them to spill the beans and what the f*cks going on with all the money you have?

I can’t care about those fools when the Nuggets are playing so well.

the nuggets were only fun when they were in the ABA

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

can you get all the broncos owners in one room and ask them to spill the beans and what the f*cks going on with all the money you have?

I can’t care about those fools when the Nuggets are playing so well.

the nuggets were only fun when they were in the ABA

I probably wasn’t into basketball back then. What time frame were they in ABA?

(I could google it but I’m over-googled today. So f’n tired of googling everything.)

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

doug rr wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:I wish I could get paid for unlocking people. Or better yet, like a contract therapist. You can pay me to go unlock someone you need unlocked.

can you get all the broncos owners in one room and ask them to spill the beans and what the f*cks going on with all the money you have?

I can’t care about those fools when the Nuggets are playing so well.

the nuggets were only fun when they were in the ABA

I probably wasn’t into basketball back then. What time frame were they in ABA?

(I could google it but I’m over-googled today. So f’n tired of googling everything.)

up until around 1976 or so..used to go to some games downtown..got to watch Dr. J do his thing with Philly and they all played with that red white and blue basketball..tickets were like $4..after the game we'd go to casa bonita

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.

tragabigzanda wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:Mother-in-law likes to analyze my mental health. She’s far from qualified, and yet apparently now I’m narcissistic.

sorry pep but this made me laugh

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.

tragabigzanda wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

pepperwhiteMFC wrote:Mother-in-law likes to analyze my mental health. She’s far from qualified, and yet apparently now I’m narcissistic.

sorry pep but this made me laugh

I’m not sure what to do with my newly prescribed identity, Trag!

oh sure, make this thread all about you

wease wrote:I definitely used to care a lot more about what people think about me. Other than my weight and I appear to people outside my family, I don’t give a damn anymore. I can’t quite get over the weight thing, tho. Especially when I do stuff like meeting RMers. I just assume everyone I’ve met sees me as just a big fatass and that bothers me. But I’m way beyond the point of people thinking I’m an asshole or something. I pretty much know how to function in society and there’s something someone else doesn’t like about me, that’s their problem, not mine.

epilogue wrote:I've long respected therapy. I think it's vital. And I'm aware that I need it badly.

Fucking weird that I keep not getting help. Maybe that's what I'll talk about with my therapist if/when it finally happens.