TWFT

The word for today -- and every day -- is EMPATHY.

From the Notebook

All lusts are in the heart.

He never learned to play exactly, but he liked the sound of the keys beneath his fingers. . .

Racism is bad for the soul, that's a given, but it won't become unfashionable in political circles until it's bad for the pocket book also.

Having anything to do with her was a bad idea right from the very beginning. No matter my supposed motivation -- good or bad -- it was never anything else. No good was ever going to come from it.

Holes in the heart cannot be filled with painters' putty. Scarred tissue does an admirable, albeit imperfect, job.

Fire burns, but it is smoke that kills.

Life is a collection of cheap thrills. Roll-a-coaster ride anyone?

The universe is filled with metaphor and very little else.

Success is wonderful, but it is failure that teaches us the most. By this criterion, I must be the most knowledgeable person in the world.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Not everyone is entitled to their actions. Opinions are free, actions must be paid for.

Race is based on the concept of sub-species; an idea that has no real meaning outside of the world of scientific classification and organization.

The Confederate flag might be part of "who they are" but it should not be part of who they want to be.

Hell hasn't frozen over, but the temperature definitely fell about fifty degrees.

I don't think the picture is that bad, honestly, but the color of the wall behind it makes me want to puke.

The desire to remain a physical being drives all physical activity.

Everyone knew it was ironic, but they did it anyway. I find that ironic.

Now we know why so many people commit suicide in hotel rooms. Bad artwork.

A list of the things I don't care about could fill a library of thick volumes with thin pages and small type. Their opposite could be scribbled on the back of a business card with a small child's crayon.

We are damned not for our beliefs, but by our actions.

The Christian soldier like any other man of arms performs at the Devil's bidding.

Action

Looking at the world through envious eyes. The ghost in the machine is getting restless. He wills motion and a limb moves. He desires sound and lips tremble with air. From the shadows he ambles forth. A mystery skulled in bone and flesh. His true nature always obscured. The incorporeal and the material working together nefariously. Mind and body. Lord Vadar and his Death Star.

Time on My Hands

Time on my hands. Melting icicles chipped from a freezer wall. Water dripping through chilblainned fingers. Bluing pinkish palms. Wetting shoe-tops with dark stains. This is how the days are marked.

Time on my hands. Gloves thread bare at their tips. See-through fabric hardly covering ancient skin. Lifeline showing at the wrist. Crisscrossed with scarred tissue. This is how the years slip by.

Time on my hands. Closed around a chocolate crucifix. The faith of my youth rotting at body temperature. Brown sugar ooze sticking to nails and knuckles. Jesus withering on the cross. This is how the seconds tic out.

Final Word

"There are no atheists in foxholes." Yes, there are and they are as uncomfortable, and as uncertain, and as frightened as any believer. The only difference is that they are honest and forthright about their doubts and fears. They don't use a belief in a powerful, but fictional deity as an emotional crutch. They face the truth and they face death with a dignity that is impossibly for a true believer, whatever his or her religion.

What we tell our children to ease their anxieties should not be what we tell ourselves. The universe is a thoroughly adult place. It takes a mature mind to survive its chaos. Yet, even a mature mind only has so many days on earth. Make the best of them. Live for today, not for a metaphysical tomorrow that will never come. Don't let a happy life be marred by the desire for a happy after-life as well.

There is no other side. There is nothing to pass over to. When someone dies you lose them forever. That's life. Deal with it like adults, people. Take comfort in the fact that they lived and that you were fortunate enough to have known them, not in the pleasant fantasy that they somehow still exist and that you will see them again. Embrace the truth. Truth is all we have or can ever have. Death is the final word. Death.

Chicken Jokes

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.

Why did the duck cross the road? He wanted to know what the chicken thought was so interesting.

Why did the fox cross the road? Lunch.

Why did the hound cross the road? He was chasing the fox.

Why did the second chicken stay home? It was too crowded on the other side of the road.

Why did Jeb Bush cross the road? I don't know why, but he came right back and then he denied ever having been on the other side.

Why did the sociologist cross the road? Studies show that college educated white males will cross the road eight to twelve times over the course of their working lifetimes.

Why did the cop cross the road? Pre-Ferguson punchline: The Donut shack was on the other side. Post-Ferguson punchline: There were no African-American males to shoot on this side of the road.

Why did the Zen master cross the road? There is no road. There is no chicken. There is no Zen master.

Why did the climate change denier cross the road? It was still above water.

Why did Bugs Bunny cross the road? He took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.

Why did Kim Kardashian cross the road? I don't know why, but it's trending.

Why did the squirrel cross the road and then scurry right back again? I don't know why, but he's leaning towards Bush.

Why did the zombie chicken cross the road? Chicken brains!

Why did the hopeless neurotic cross the road? Alecktorophobia ("the fear of chickens")

Small Evil

I don’t know if there's a God or not; I have no idea if Heaven exists or if Dante's Inferno is fictional or real, but I do know this: every person who has ever lived is a mixture of good and bad. Most of the evil in the world is small evil, done by small people. Murderers are few and far between, but the insensitive and the cruel swarm the earth with their numbers. We damn ourselves in small ways. Every tiny inconsideration, every convenient callousness, every omission of good manners or failure to support those in need lessens our humanity and helps to deliver the world into chaos and despair. The road to Hell -- metaphorically speaking -- isn't paved with good intentions. It isn't paved at all, but laid down haphazardly by a billion blaspheming mouths, a billion grasping hands, and a billion clumsy feet.