GENERAL ASSIGNMENT for Mrs. Jolivet in Baltimore, MARYLAND

First Grade Hamilton Elementary School #236, Class of '70

Today is Friday, May 8th, 2009. It is 0850 HRS

Eastern Daylight Savings Time

somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere.

GENERAL ASSIGNMENT

In order to learn how to swim, I have found water generally conducive, however not necessary, to the experience. Often though, even after the most thorough training, the hydraulic adept may discover the greatest lesson in the collective pool of sorrow created by the tears of humankind. This is precisely what occurred. Pay attention carefully, and the sun will rise in your eyes.

Given my tendency to profane the sacred while simultaneously appreciating the sacred nature of all that is, it is with a peculiar mindfulness to weighted respect and pure intention that I relate the following. Know I am fully responsible for my gross irreverence as well as my deliberate seriousness.

Translating this communication falters even now in the light of my keen inadequacies. Full of false starts and in danger of tripping over the tongue of the monkey mind, to the best of my feeble abilities and in spite of myself, I will attempt plain transmission of the facts. For the benefit of all concerned, I will get out of your way by getting out of mine. Once euthanized, may the monkey peacefully give up the ghost.

After four years of assimilating this, intuitively I feel the timing is appropriate. It is now or never. Willingly, I surrender this tender body. May you exploit it to your benefit. If you are dissonant with distaste, I offer you the door. Do not allow the latch to catch you in your hinder as you leave.

What happened to me, then, is as real today as if it was happening right now. In fact, it is happening right now, the only difference is that I have been conscious of it for a brief span in this apparent, if not illusory, mortal existence.

It was not as if I was not aware prior to this experience, but I was completely ignorant of the scope and gravity of the reality of the experience. Who I am is of little to no importance save the value of my heart as it is loved. In no way did I seek out or expect what happened in the early afternoon of that day on my best friend’s lanai in Hilualoa, Hawaii.

Prior to returning to the macadamia nut farm and coffee fields located on the Kona side of Big Island, the morning of the event was unusually spent swimming with dolphins and their still wrinkled, brand-spanking newborns in Ka’alakua Bay. Appearing like an overgrown adult chimera, human yet puffer fish, nine months pregnant, and armed with an unwieldy lime green extra-large water noodle for safety’s sake, in order to fully relish the interaction of the seven hundred pound mammals echolocating off my protruding abdomen, I submersed myself entirely in the turquoise depths of the Pacific. Every place I swam, there were puffer fish following closely within arm’s reach and eyeing me with intense curiosity. Even though my face appeared human, surely the familiar shape of my form drew them.

To be continued…

Copyright 2009 Scintilla Fly Alright Reversed

please forgive spelling errors

(Kissed by Robert Schmidt in the coat room!)

The book of life is short.

Enjoy your weekend wherever you may be!

Overheard on a visit home during my fifth year of graduate school:

Mom [on phone with old family friend]: "Oh, yes--thanks for asking--the kids are fine. Johnny and Joey are at Betty Ford, and Linda is at Stanford."

Love,

Linda (not my real name)

But I also feel sorry for him. He's a literary and moral train wreck.

I hope Salon never spends its money on a columnist who can actually write or who actually gives a damn.

Keillor fills a void with his void.

-- JackSparx

I believe your condition is called autophobia. Also, posting meaningless personal shit to Extremely Uninterested People should merit value as an additional self-flagellation measure- plainly disturbing but wholly efficient, if one wishes to embody dissonance as you do.

We have it on close authority that Barbara B. really does like Georgie boy more than John Ellis ... There is no accounting for a mothers preferences .... let it go!

We have it on close authority that Barbara B. really does like Goergie boy more than John Ellis ... There is no accounting for a mothers preferences .... let it go!

I know it's wrong.

But I also feel sorry for him. He's a literary and moral train wreck.

I hope Salon never spends its money on a columnist who can actually write or who actually gives a damn.

Keillor fills a void with his void.

I haven't read the article or the letters -- the last piece of crap cured me of GK -- but I submit to you that if indeed this Larry person is a creep, it's BECAUSE his mother devoted her life to him.

Garrison Keillor writes a column for Salon. This is not a blog.

I will be bold here and say that he is not interested in performing any acts of contrition for the opinions stated in his column last week. If you don't like him, don't read him. You will not be missed.

Uh, I thought you could already discern this by the big purple wheel chair tattoo on my forehead. My testosterone low level light has tripped. Zyklon B! It's a gas!

-- Scintilla Fly

I see no discernible forehead on your textual presence which negates the purple transportation you submit exists.

Uh, I thought you could already discern this by the big purple wheel chair tattoo on my forehead. My testosterone low level light has tripped. Zyklon B! It's a gas!

Uh, are you crippled at evaluating veiled humor?

Because [drum roll] Cyborg was merely engaging Sparx in an amusing fashion.

God, people are so damned serious around here!

Observe Sparx and Cyborg. See how they demonstrate the very nature of the unforgiving. Appreciate them, surrender all judgment, and hold them in a space of Love and Compassion. They represent all suffering. They are intolerane. They demonstrate man.'s inhumanity to man. They are you and they are me. I am guilty. I am intolerant of the intolerant.Now, ridicule for the edit. Entertain me.