Hmm, thought Blurtso, the ants have returned to the barn. I wonder what they do in winter… I’ve never seen a colony migrating south. Maybe they go deeper underground. They sure are in a hurry, always going someplace. And as soon as they get there, they go someplace else. They’re almost human.
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’s theory of evolution…
…covers all the bases.
Ooops, said Blurtso, stumbling on a hole in the grass. I almost turned my hoof and fell. I never do that. At least I didn’t used to. I guess in the future I’ll stumble more often. And then I’ll fall. And one day I’ll fall without stumbling. And then I won’t get up, and I’ll dream of the days when I could stumble and fall.
Bonny was talking a lot about mindfulness yesterday. I wonder what she meant? I wonder if it’s anything like stomachfulness? I’ll have to ask her the next time I see her, if I’m not too focused on the present to remember.
The bus is late, thought Blurtso. Or I’m early. I guess I’m off schedule. I didn’t plan on that. I wonder what I should do while I wait? I could just stand here, or I could do something. I could take out my books and review for tomorrow. I wonder how much time I have? If I have a long time, I’ll take out my books. If I don’t, I’ll do something else. Like what? I can enjoy almost anything for a short time. But a short time can become a long time if you don’t know how much time. I should find something I enjoy for a short time, and for a long time. Like what? It’s not easy when you get off schedule, and you have to stop and think.
What are you thinking about? said Blurtso. I’m thinking about Henry David Thoreau, said Harlan. What about him? said Blurtso. He said it takes infinite leisure to appreciate a single phenomenon. Really? said Blurtso. Yes, said Harlan. In that case, said Blurtso, it’s good we had a big lunch.
Thanks so much, Blurtso, I only need
your help with a couple of things…
They seem to be repeating themselves, thought Blurtso, listening to the things they were saying. They seem to be repeating themselves. I’m glad I don’t do that. Because they seem to be repeating themselves.
“Blurtso sings the donkey electric”
I sing the donkey electric!
A song of asses I sing, near and far!
Asses on hills, asses in fields, asses in herds,
more bountiful than the once-bountiful buffalo,
asses on land and asses at sea, asses short, skinny, fat and tall!
Multitudes of asses, spanning these star-spangled states!
I have perceived that to be an ass
is to be enough.
The ears of the ass are sacred, delicate,
twitching receptacles of sound,
assiduous antennae registering, recording all,
the hooves of the ass are no less
than the slippers of sultans
striding silken alfombras and seraglio stone,
the snout of the ass and his nostrils—a dual lamp
of Aladdin—inhaling flowery fragrance,
leading to wished-for fiestas of pumpkin pleasure,
the ass’s tail, though stumpy or small, and swatting flies,
is a palm fanning reclining Cleopatra,
his teeth, precious jade, are greened and polished
by the grass of a thousand fields,
his attentive eyes and friendly balance of features,
—courtly countenance and caryatid composure—
no less perfect than the visage of Helen.
Such asses I see, to the north and to the south!
From blistering bivouacs of winter
to blazing battalions of summer,
Patagonia to Peloponnese, Malibu to Manhattan,
Concord to Cambridge, every here
and every there, asses I see! Brown, grey,
yellow, red, purple, orange, azure asses!
Asses in other climes, asses in other times,
French, British, Australian, Arabian, Asian asses!
Eating every blade of grass, an ass!
Trampling every leaf that falls, a hoof!
Wading every stream that sings,
a snout, a snort, and a bray!
Hee-haw goes the jack!
Hee-haw goes the jenny!
Hee-haw go the judge and jury and judged!
Hee-haw from the dell! Hee-haw from the glen!
Hee-haw at mid-day! Hee-haw at the moon!
I see the resigned ass, bearing a load,
obeying the coax of his lord,
I see the boisterous ass braying,
in the barn, his bonny bray,
I see the amorous ass (of these there are many),
expressing exigencies by day and by night,
I see farms, fields, freeways and burgs,
each in their way, replete with asininities,
I see the asinine politician, professor, and poet,
each one leaving a brand on the asses of asses.
And the asses of yore, you ask, where are they
with their clip and clop on the stones of the street?
Les ânes voici! I say! Les ânes voici!
Heeding the whinny and neigh,
and ass-bray of the future!
What song do I sing? (you ask and I reply),
I sing the song of asses!
Certain, and stoic, and strong!
From each face an ass!
From each office, family, and farm!
Asses I sing! Avalanches of asses!
I sing! I sing a song of asses!
I sing the donkey electric!