Real duck soup:
Artificial duck soup:
I’ll take the real duck soup. It looks like an e.e. cummings poem.
Perhaps I should have entitled it “LIberals”
Real liberals and artificial liberals? You’ve given me something new to think about. Someone said that laughter is the beginning of wisdom.
You’ll notice there’s no real sense of direction here, that’s what made me think of liberals after reading the news lately.
Probably a good thing I didn’t use that title since I just noticed there’s no duck with his DA up in the air and his head buried under the water.
You have to save those really good titles for when they really fit the pictures.
Yes. Maybe that was what Bob Dylan was getting at all those years ago when he wrote so scathingly, “How does it feel/To be on your own/With NO DIRECTION HOME/Like a complete unknown/Like a rolling stone?” Also reminds me that I asked a Tibetan Buddhist teacher once if there was any sort of god in that tradition. She said that the teaching was that there was no “god” and also no “not-God.” Somehow my mind moves this along to no “liberals” and no “not-liberals.” I lose my way all the time, but I do have a direction. The liberals might be lost for now, but I don’t think the ducks are. If I had to put a label on myself, it might be “Judeo-Christian Buddhist Taoist Hindu woman artist in recovery from an eating disorder and PTSD.” I am not sure what I appear to be to others, if they notice me at all. I drew a picture once that I titled, “Emily Dickinson with Paintbrush.” (I’m nobody! Who are you?) Writing comments in a blog feels a little like being Emily Dickinson. (There’s a whole bunch of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise–you know!). That’s the paradox. Emily’s voice NEEDED to be heard, even if her poem makes fun of people whose names are public. Just as your voice and your name need to be heard. Thank you for your courage, Loren. I’m still working on mine.
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