Descent into the Fiery Hell of Blogdom

I am completely aware that I can't really keep a horse. I don't have a big truck. Or a trailer. The cash outlay for an animal like this is prohibitive; Nevertheless, that element of me that somehow drives me forward to do things that don't always make sense, keeps a horse. Its not painful. Why, Does it look painful?

Same with blogging. The hours I spend playing with concepts here are like a garden near my home, that gets way too much care while all around my life frays at the edges.

Which brings me back to the horse. A couple of days ago she took a jump with a rider on her. The rider was thrown forward and she bucked back and the person got up off the ground, fairly shaken. So around we go again, and this time the horse gets communicated the fear of the jump even though she took it fine the first time. Horses have awful short term memory and amazing long term memory so that old adage about "you have to get back up there" really does hold true. The horse will forget its gotten the best of you and just remember that you held on the second time.

So naturally, next two times around once we get the very shaken rider back up on the horse, the horse keeps evading the jump. And we all hold our breath. This is how things get un-learned. And I get out there and step in and provide some pressure. Finally the pony can fly again.

And there is that one moment. We all smiled. Its just a paint mare jumping pony, jumping 1M. An inexperienced rider. A guy in the ring along with, who barely knows what to do, can't afford doing it - but all of a sudden she takes the jump and the rider takes the horse, and everyone is clear headed again.

So maybe life is really finite after all, just moments we string together? The sun setting on a new mexico desert at the last strains of the 9th symphony of Beethoven. Bats flying through the air at Carlsbad caverns cursum perficio. Being able to write here at my desk again, without people drinking beer next to me (I was on a Wi Fi connection at a local bar for the last three weeks..) will accelerate my descent into blogdom again. Is it really hell? Hm. Lets talk about hell ( I still have to go to the stables, it will help me get ready.) Not that I am putting off my chores until the Telco guy arrives... but ..

How will those (how many were there?) (seven?) seals of the apocalypse open ? Lets see... When the pumps underneath New York City shut down , even for two days. or the supply of Gasoline to California ever stopped, just for five days - or just one week of grocery supplies didn't run ..... .......

Two days of shutdown in the tunnel system of New York City, and the entire subway system of New York City floods completely - five days no gasoline in California and every car in California runs out of gas, same thing, essentially for groceries and the entire city of Atlanta starves. In New York, the first freeze, the roads will buckle and tear the city apart - huge chunks of ice in the subways beneath.

Welp. Telco called but never showed up. So off to the stables with me. I will probably have to come back at some importune moment. Like shovelling horse poo. I don't question doing it mind you. I just question my own sanity. These days, now, quite a lot in fact. Why am I actually bothering? Only 3,917 hits?! Only an increase of 700 over 3200 last time. Pah! Maybe I should be at the stables.. My horse appreciates my abilities with shovelling ... (see diagram above)

I guess the real question is if my nails can hold on any longer on this flat black metal surface I'm trying use to halt my descent. The sound of them against the metal, screeching, has been fairly decent accompaniment these last ten miles of freefall. See look, I can change it? I can play "old mcdonald had a farm". Ah. A mans reach should exceed his grasp, or else what's a heaven for?

Hmm... Can the devil know how fast I am coming by the doppler shift in my scream?


They say a man works far better when he is under pressure & for you perhaps this will prove to be true. That is my hope anyway...

What happened to the poem of abortion?