Zealot

Agreed. 😊

Cumberbatch did a fabulous job with the character! No, I haven’t seen “Six Feet Under”. Will have to look into it. We watched all twelve seasons of “Bones”, which also dealt with unusual deaths/homicides. The character development over the course of the series was excellent. And so relatable for many.

I’ll look that one up.

So, Mrs Z and I finished binge watching all four seasons last night. Oh, I very, very much enjoyed it!!! And am very bummed that it ended. Very nicely done twist in the last episode. 😊

All the above! But my fav would be the mountain lake.

He’s a Blue Tick?

Do you ever compose your own, Susan?

One of my favorite groups currently:

My son has recently gotten into this. I love thine mix of traditional and modern instruments.

Great day!! 😊

These are really good @Allen.

Delusion I know their form Fugacious, elusive Flitting about on the edge of perception Importuning scrutiny I hear her call Succinct, imperative In the obscurity of nocturnal wakefulness Demanding indulgence I watch them move Patulous, menacing Silently enveloping trace effulgence Portending malice I pray in darkness Pondering, enjoining Entreating the feminal divine Flames rekindling I make the shift Unbidden, transcendent Existing simultaneously though ages Reliving eons I descend the staircase Shimmering, brilliant Radiating joy amidst spiral opulence Envisaged metamorphosis I dream in twilight Apprehensive, awakening Being a possibility of compulsion Lucidity returns I sit in red Longing, contemplating Existing in a moment of acceptance Preferring delusion - April 7, 2024 This is my April edition.

So what were the comments?

“Acolyte” or “I must be a genius…” Consider the bottle Deceptive, ephemeral; Enticing Inviting redemption. Who haunts the sanctuary of the shamed? Who visits the tabernacle of the tormented? Or hears the dirge of the depraved? In aqueous requiem I sang the psalm of the inebriated And offered approbation at the gilded altar of Neon. Now in corpulent seclusion I contemplate And proffer penance for the iniquity of the inane And lifting the chalice of the profane I seal my discipleship... - May 23, 2003

Genius, like gold and precious stones, is chiefly prized because of its rarity. Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter. Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres far above the vulgar world and fills his soul with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth. It is probably on account of this that people who have genius do not pay their board, as a general thing. Geniuses are very singular. If you see a young man who has frowsy hair and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress, you may set him down for a genius. If he sings about the degeneracy of a world which courts vulgar opulence and neglects brains, he is undoubtedly a genius. If he is too proud to accept assistance, and spurns it with a lordly air at the very same time that he knows he can't make a living to save his life, he is most certainly a genius. If he hangs on and sticks to poetry, notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him, he is a true genius. If he throws away every opportunity in life and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot, and finally persists, in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense but not any genius, persists in going up some infamous back alley dying in rags and dirt, he is beyond all question a genius. But above all things, to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse and then rush off and get booming drunk, is the surest of all the different signs of genius. - Mark Twain

I understood. And I agree. While I personally love the way heels can make a woman’s leg look, I can’t see how they could ever be comfortable. And I’d imagine they keep the podiatry business booming.

Work…

I thought getting stiffed meant not being paid for supplies or services…

Practicality has nothing to do with it: 😉

Until I was about 30, I was a bastard. Then, after all those years, my biological father admitted I was his. I’m doing well, F’in ray. I remember you as FSOG, and I believe I recall the snarky old bastard moniker. But I don’t remember the hubbub…

Now that’s livin’! 😊

Nice, @Scrapr! I really need to get back into riding.

Wonder Bread “Hocus pocus:” corruption of “Hoc est enim corpus meum” One teasing April day the mad priest approached a bakery truck and prayed the words of consecration. The driver, a parishioner, called the bishop to buy every biscuit, loaf, and bun; the whole cargo, the Body of Christ. If that priest is still loose changing substantially everything he knows how, what if no one overhears? Kids will eat those sweetrolls and stop their breakfast fight; a man slipping the sandwich from his sack will find his union dues; the student over midnight toast sees life and major work; imagine the flap and chatter aloft, full of breadcrumbs, the birds. –Jeanine Hathaway