If there is anything less enjoyable than running down a jagged rocky hill filled with spiky bushes while it is raining lemon juice and lava at the same time, I don't think that I want to know. It's not that I don't like knowledge, it's just that I don't think it will be much use. Plus, I'm really just afraid.
But on the other hand, I have an interesting bit of information (and by information you of course know that I mean trivia). Did you know that fire ants are extremely protective of their queens. If they feel the colony is in danger, they will move the queen down one of their tunnels to a new location. This is part of the reason that Fire ants are so hard to kill.
Also, a colony can have more than one queen.
And lemon juice never rains from the sky.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Leaves shaking at the breeze
I live in a fantasy. I am constantly reminded of locations and events that live only in my mind. I have lived in these worlds which have as much reality to me, almost, as the one in which I live and breath. I step between them as if jumping from one room to the next.
One minute I am in a 30's era mystery inspired by Cthulu events, and the next I am in a 20's era noir type adventure making deliveries as a pilot who lives on an island chain hundreds of miles from any mainland. Gunships and airborne cities circle over my head.
I sup with the characters and listen to their stories. I realize that in some way they are all me. I feel their anguish as the make the wrong choices and hurt the ones they would save. I struggle with them as they try to right their own wrongs and the wrongs of the world. I empathize as they hide from the hard choices in front of them.
I have very little imagination. These characters and places are gifts to me. I love that I have met them.
One minute I am in a 30's era mystery inspired by Cthulu events, and the next I am in a 20's era noir type adventure making deliveries as a pilot who lives on an island chain hundreds of miles from any mainland. Gunships and airborne cities circle over my head.
I sup with the characters and listen to their stories. I realize that in some way they are all me. I feel their anguish as the make the wrong choices and hurt the ones they would save. I struggle with them as they try to right their own wrongs and the wrongs of the world. I empathize as they hide from the hard choices in front of them.
I have very little imagination. These characters and places are gifts to me. I love that I have met them.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
What an amazing thing
Figures walk in and out of my room. As I stare intently at my screen, I am lost. The world dances and the figures in it make their trails to and fro. Where is my place in all this magic? Right here. The words rolling off my fingertips pour meaning into me as surely as I strive to pour meaning into them. What a strange duplicity.
I recently drove across a bit of country well known for its ability to inspire folklore and legend. This magical land called West Virginia inspired me to such a length that I can almost believe in Rip Vanwinkle.
The clouds laid over my path just far enough up to be called by their true name and not fog. They drizzled water down on my automobile in some mystical shower. The hills or mountains, or walls of trees (I am still not sure if they had an end) surrounded me in so much wonder. To add to all of my enjoyment, high bridges emerged unbidden from the sides of these mountains and disappeared just as quickly into their destination with no signs of roads connecting them to the rest of the world. These lovely structures seemed almost integral to the structure of such a magical place, as if they were mere girders that the mountains had been built on by some long forgotten race.
In short, the Appalachian mountains at the southern edge of West Virginia have captured my imagination.
I recently drove across a bit of country well known for its ability to inspire folklore and legend. This magical land called West Virginia inspired me to such a length that I can almost believe in Rip Vanwinkle.
The clouds laid over my path just far enough up to be called by their true name and not fog. They drizzled water down on my automobile in some mystical shower. The hills or mountains, or walls of trees (I am still not sure if they had an end) surrounded me in so much wonder. To add to all of my enjoyment, high bridges emerged unbidden from the sides of these mountains and disappeared just as quickly into their destination with no signs of roads connecting them to the rest of the world. These lovely structures seemed almost integral to the structure of such a magical place, as if they were mere girders that the mountains had been built on by some long forgotten race.
In short, the Appalachian mountains at the southern edge of West Virginia have captured my imagination.
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