Lying under the day sky, delaying pathway progress, the obsequious mindset has turned its attention toward providing for the self, the only entity guaranteed to relay gratitude. Any tincture of doubt regarding the choice made is carried away by warmths from both the outside and inside. While the worldly soul may find comfort in Pantagruelism as a cathartic salve for healing Weltschmerz, the natural passed is the prize of each day’s pintadine when it is instead embraced for its ability to bring balance and peace to unsettled minds–even as soft-spoken–even as dimly lit. For it in the quiet that the wisest voice is heard: the inner one.


Dromedary camel’s desh is northern Africa and the Middle East, while around central-Asia place meanders the Bactrian-camel beast. Anthropomorphic tree may be a dehydrated rider’s illusion, but mighty sand castle that is not there deceives no ungulate’s vision. Humps grow taller as camels quench their thirst is morology at its best; they do enjoy stories, though–even silly ones, before they take a rest. Hooves trek ad absurdum for those fabled oases lush with snacks sans thorn–a camel paradise with masseuses deft at leaving tired humps reborn. ; )


Oh, hairbands!: The progeny of the chaogenous relationship betwixt hair strands, face, and wind: Why doth thou snap out of place when replacements are at home and gusts are happily blowing ends in my front space? Be kind to me, little elastics, as I am but a humble soul out for a relaxing stroll. If you really want to mess with one’s day, a skip down the path is a popinjay. Why, oh why, dearest hair tie, will not you stay taught? You see, an earworm of pleasance is Kylie Minogue’s ‘Can’t Get You Out Of My Head’, but on actual worm made of hair in the ear brings to the senses much dread. Hence, I plead with thee, much-need hair wraps, to wrap your intentions around this: stay in one piece ahug on your hair and if you do not let a strand stray amiss, I will let you choose the flavour shampoo and balm when they come in for a head kiss! ; D


It looks like a flower, but it does not smell like one. The colours please the eyes; it survives without the sun.

The gesture warms the heart; its intention is well said. Though, a live one would be neat as this one is quite dead.

How was it made with only folds? There is zero tape. It’s presence, too, seems to be creating a moodscape.

One is fine; it really is, although it’s no bouquet. Plus, not needing water should prevent early decay.

Still so unsure what was done to deserve all this fuss; accounts that deserve such nice this way are nebulous.

It shall stay by the bed to be seen upon awake where what it means from heart to heart will a best day make.

Even though it’s paper and cannot seed more pink blooms, in dreams, it emits flakelets that blossom through whole rooms.

So, is a flower real if paper are it’s petals? Of course! As only real can call where happy settles. ; )


Alice wondered, “How can one be sure that the paths following a drink or an eat are the right ones? How can I know I am following as I should when the land seems so dark and foreboding?”

Thoughts broken by an unseen creature’s outgrabe, Alice insisted the identity of the unknown.

“I am you, of course. Do not you recognize your own voice?”

“How can you be me if I am here and you are…somewhere…else?” Alice asked a bit shaken and unsure.

“I am wherever you are because I am you. Senses are not sensible, you see, for a sense is not reality.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense…erm..I mean…”

“I know exactly what you mean; it is one of the advantages of being you. You had a question in need of an answer, no?”

“Yes, yes I did. Sometimes the path I walk seems dark and I do not know how to return to the light path–the right path.”

“Well, dearest Alice, you already know the answer. Your problem is that you are asking the wrong question. You see, even when you only see dark, others see you in the light–and how can that not be right?”

“But, how do others see me in the light when I am standing in its absence?”

“Alice, that which worries you is what?”

“Not knowing. I want to know.”

“How did you get where you are right now?”

“You mean where I am standing?”


“Well, there was this rabbit hole, you see–”

“And you entered this rabbit hole.”

“Well, more like *fell*.”

“So, would you say you chose to enter the rabbit hole?”

“Well, no, not really. I mean, there was this rabbit and I was curious–”

“So, you were following the rabbit. Did you ask the rabbit if it was hopping down a right or wrong path before you followed it?”

“Well, no.”

“Then, why did you follow it if you were not sure down what kind of path it was leading you?”

“Well, I…was curious…and I wanted to see where it was going in such a hurry.”

“So, you went down a path under uncertain terms because you *wanted* what was down that path.”

“Yes. I wanted to know more about the white rabbit.”

“And, following that white rabbit has eventually led you here, to this darkness.”

“Well, I did not think it would lead me here.”

“Ah, but Alice, no one can predict where a path will lead and to think any path will stay the same shade forever–”

“Yes, you are right.”

“Neither can we retrodict which choices led us to our current state, Alice, for there are countless lines passing through any point.”

“So, then, I guess, there is no way of knowing if one is on the right path?”

“Alice, what is the right path?”

“I do not know!”

“Do you ever feel that your search for an answer to determining the right path is somewhat of a Sisyphean task?”


“Perhaps you should ask a different question, then.”

“I am tired of asking questions; so many seem unanswerable. I just want to find my way out of this darkness.”

“How will you do that?”

“I suppose I will just keep walking.”

“That sounds like a wisest of ideas, Miss Alice.”

“But, remember, Alice, when you find yourself surrounded by drab lands of drabbing, you are not on the wrong path: you are enlightening the unlit–for it is those who question their righteousness who have the least reason for worry.”

“Thank you, unseen friend, for your time and wisdom.”

“Not so unseen, dearest Alice. You can always find me in the looking glass.” ; )

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