Tagged illness

“Blurtso catches a glimpse through an interstice”

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I suppose even the busiest people find themselves alone at times—walking to their car, opening a door, taking out the trash—and they glimpse an honest reflection of themselves—transitory, insignificant, unprotected—before rushing to hide beneath responsibilities, overcoats, and routines.

“Blurtso remains unbeaten”

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Goodness me! thought Blurtso. Look at all these runners and bikes!
Maybe I should do a marathon, or triathlon, or decathlon….
If I trained night and day,
I’m sure I could beat myself at something.

“Blurtso tries to tweet”

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Curse these clumsy hoofs! said Blurtso. How am I going to let the whole world know every insignificant thought that comes into my mind?

“Blurtso counts to three”

O.k., said Blurtso, on three. One, two, three… go!
And off they went as fast as they could.

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What do you know, thought Blurtso, Pavlov was right.

“Blurtso and Harlan consider what’s missing”

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Do you have an iPhone? said Blurtso. No, said Harlan. Do you ever think, said Blurtso, about all the texting people are doing, and wonder what we’re missing? No, said Harlan, but I wonder what they’re missing.

“Blurtso puts his ear to the cell phone”

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O.K., thought Blurtso, I’d better get serious and do some living. Tell my friends and tell my family, be engaged and be engaging, be connected and accepted, broadcasting every thing I’m thinking, what I am and what I’m not, what I shall and I shall not, not forgotten when I’m talking, when I’m sitting, when I’m walking, just as long as I keep talking, are you listening are you listening?!

“Morton’s Pond” (XXII)

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“Sounds” – I talked to Pablo about deer ticks and he told me their full name is “ixodes scapularis” and that they drink an animal’s blood four to five days before letting go. He said they can spread lyme disease, but that humans are more susceptible than donkeys. Maybe that’s why there aren’t as many humans in the woods. Maybe now that I know more about deer ticks, they will be less interested in biting me.

“Morton’s Pond” (XXI)

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“Tastes” – The grass didn’t taste as sweet this morning. I think it is because of last night’s pie. I suppose flavors eat each other like one sound eats another. I wonder if a donkey doesn’t taste as good to a deer tick after a deer tick has tasted a deer?