JWA2277

On board the Pequod, Queequeg watches a Quail eating Quaker quick oats.

                 Oh Bee, Oh Bee, Please leave me be. I love what you do for the flowers and the trees, but not what you do to me.                 Oh Bee, Oh Bee, Please don’t hurt me. I want to save you; you can’t live in this tree. It is dying, so please don’t sting me.                 Oh Bee, Oh Bee, Please don’t hurt me. I love your kind, and what you do for me, for the vegetables, fruits and trees.          But dear Bee… Oh, pretty little Bee! Please don’t sting me!

  SCC Shadow Casters: Ninja-Spinners The man in the fedora continued his walk, taking a careful look around the mall. He was trying not to be too obvious, but the sound, that sound. That whirring grinding, ball bearing sound, it filled him with absolute dread.   Coming to the mall may have been a fatal mistake. Now, there would be no way for him to know which way an attack was coming from. He had thought that maybe, he would be safe out in public. But, he had forgotten how quickly this new "toy" had filtered its way into everyday life and everyday Society.   He was filled with a terror that could only be his own, unnoticed by everyone aroun

  To my beloved, an open letter. To my beloved ****, I miss you and still love you, I feel my word to you should be shared, not just proof of my love for you. But, I see in your plight, many things I see in others too. So I do write to you, but others in this life as well. Beloved, I ask you to live, if for no other reason, live for me and my love, for you. Armageddon, the end Of days, death, these are easy. They ask nothing from you, simply lingering on the point of a knife to stab and bring darkness, and long sleep. This is easy, so… though… I would gladly die for you. Instead I do, an ask of you, the harder thing, the toughe

 The man in the Bowler hat sits on a park bench, folding and shuffling his newspaper. It is the edge of night “magic hour” with the sun fading, the park bench and it's strange resident sits under an oak tree, on the edge of an ancient grave yard. On a western road, coming out of the sun, a man walks by. As if talking to the air, very loud and very clear, the man in the bowler begins to speak, never once looking up from his newspaper, “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick… Jack… Jump over the candle stick! Ever heard of the Jack who killed the giant, stole his golden harp, climbed a beanstalk? Or perhaps you have hea

I sometimes wish the whole world would not take itself so seriously. Than again, it would not be half as funny