I hear J. Alfred had a zest for life
“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”
-T.S. Eliot
“Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”
-T.S. Eliot
Adventurer d Graham (Chicago) wishes Adventurer Fran (Boston) a VERY happy birthday. Too.
Adventurer Fran (Boston contingent) wishes Adventurer d Graham (Chicago cohort) a VERY happy Birthday:
The venerable Emmie Tsumara (adventure participant hailing from the bustling city of Hiroshima) created this darling 52 Adventures emblem.
I feel like I’m lost in a dream sequence every time I look at it. I.am.gushing.
Thank you Ms. Emmie!
ADORE this! I could gaze at it all night. Totally resonates with my love of/for the ocean.
I know I am especially thankful to the lovely Lea Kauling for creating our handsome banner and logo.
Take a bow, Ms. Kauling. You are lovely.
Also, coming soon: MERCH! Well, bumper stickers, vinyl window clings and the like. If you want to help in this endeavor, I’d love your help.
Adventure on!
hells yeah! it looks awesome. If you need any help, you know i’m here.
I’m a sucker for a seer. The more heightened the experience, the better. And I have no shame in admitting that I would align myself with one psychic over another based on the buzz words found in an internet ad. I want crystal balls, and tarot readings and auric charts. I guess, at the end of the day, I want desperately to disbelieve in something I do quietly believe in. The more campy the psychic hideout, the less likely I am to believe a word of foretold fortune. And, I suppose, I’m really most afraid of hearing bad news.
Psychics have always held a special charm for me. They are paid “professionals” who emulate my nervous tick emotions. And these people are good. If you are hunched and nervous, they are hunched and nervous. If you’re bold and unbelieving, so are they. It’s offsetting to see your very demeanor reflected in another, and I’m chiefly of the belief that people are more willing to confide and believe in a replica of themselves then they are something illusory. And I think I’m one of some who understands the ruse. That is the ruse of the flowery robe wearing, crystal ball consulting seers that masquerade under the guise of “Madame Helena” or her equivalent. That’s just child’s play. But there is something to be said for people of sound intuition. People that just get it, get what has, and get what will be. These people scare the crap out of me.
And, to some extent, I am one.
you are a beautiful writer and so honest. i love it.
Spectacularly beautiful prose.
“Which poems will you read?” Brad asked, to which I responded, “I guess it’s between my concerning ones or my really concerning ones”. And that’s not a stretch. I don’t write poetry in the hopes of one day publishing. I harbor no ill-conceived notions of being crowned a laureate or lyricist or zany wordsmith. Rather, I write poems when red-faced. I write when I’m mad or sad or any intensified emotion that allows the emoter, me, to bellow in unconventional syntax. And it works. I write and write until I’ve exhausted myself. And when I’m poetically tuckered out, I’m usually in a place better than I was before, which is important when one references the titles of some of my poems, namely: “Your Living Wake”, “My Sister’s Eulogy” (note, she is still alive), “Eulogy For the Ugly”, among others.
Congratulations — what courage!
If your poems are as well written as this narrative, then I’m sure to be impressed. What a great adventurer!
I am secretly fond of my legs.
I don’t tell anyone for fear of sounding vain, or receiving an eye roll or a haughty nod when wearing a skirt. And, to be fair, there’s not a lot to boast. Sure, I have long legs, runner’s legs that make already short dresses shorter. But I can’t take them on tour. I have a folded skin scar from a poisonous spider bite on my left knee. I can count, at any given time, upwards to ten bruises that make a pattern of my calves. I’m a lax shaver. Basically, my legs are a hot mess.
But they are mine. They’ve carried me across finish lines in races and lend me some advantage on dance floors. And I like them.
So I can’t defend my need to cover them, save my penchant for pant suits. And, because I am often in pants I think the allure of a pant-less Sunday was enough to warrant a bare-all adventure. On public transport.
The plan was simple: take off your pants on the subway.
and i had thought for sure you had more conviction than myself for this one! call me the German 😉
“I am not an adventurer by choice but by fate.”
Vincent Van Gogh
cupcakeemergency 11:38 am on February 24, 2010 Permalink
Do I dare eat eat peach?