Red Mosquito

Spoiler: show

schilling

Jorge wrote:It's nice. It's a nice relationship. She lives 3 blocks from me and I see her a couple times a month. She cooks me my favorite food on my birthday, I swing by with a gift from time to time. It's nice

tree_ wrote:I felt the full sunshine of my mother's love as a baby and very young child. But ever since around 5 or 6 I remember there being a distance, which has only increased with age. She and my dad divorced when I was 3, and I wonder if she sees what she hates about my dad in me. She loves my children like she loved me, but we all know the distance is coming with them too, as they age out of cuteness. Our relationship had a semblance of a resurgence via my children, but twilight is nigh. She's always loved baby dolls as a child and all she ever wanted was children of her own, but not older children. Her relationship struggles certainly have a lot to do with being allegedly raped by one of her brothers as a young child, and I don't blame her for being the person she is. Her parents were also always quite distant with her. She is a rather insecure person, who spends great lengths of time making her self up before appearing in a public place, always quite obsessed with her appearance. She certainly has respectable qualities; she loves to be outside, to garden, and she doesn't have any substance abuse problems. But I wouldn't call our relationship close, or healthy. I struggled with it quite a bit growing up, but I've grown to accept it, and am mostly fine with it now.

tree_ wrote:I felt the full sunshine of my mother's love as a baby and very young child. But ever since around 5 or 6 I remember there being a distance, which has only increased with age. She and my dad divorced when I was 3, and I wonder if she sees what she hates about my dad in me. She loves my children like she loved me, but we all know the distance is coming with them too, as they age out of cuteness. Our relationship had a semblance of a resurgence via my children, but twilight is nigh. She's always loved baby dolls as a child and all she ever wanted was children of her own, but not older children. Her relationship struggles certainly have a lot to do with being allegedly raped by one of her brothers as a young child, and I don't blame her for being the person she is. Her parents were also always quite distant with her. She is a rather insecure person, who spends great lengths of time making her self up before appearing in a public place, always quite obsessed with her appearance. She certainly has respectable qualities; she loves to be outside, to garden, and she doesn't have any substance abuse problems. But I wouldn't call our relationship close, or healthy. I struggled with it quite a bit growing up, but I've grown to accept it, and am mostly fine with it now.

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.