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RE: Let them tumble, play it where they fall. Zapfic entry.
Marg, we are evil geniuses. Between us, we have managed to corrupt half of the most cherished children's stories of our culture. Re-writing history and breaking hearts. We are Sith Lords.
Bravo on your inclusion of Carroll and Shakespeare.
Quill
Every children's story has a hideous history, we are human's we are still here because the very phrase humanity is an oxymoron. To be human is to survive, to survive we raised our children on stories that served to do just that.
Then, characters of their own creating themselves in many ways, Carroll and Shakespeare exploited the very nature of innocence that those stories did seek to guard, to serve their own ego, enhance their artistic message, what ever it was that motivated them personally.
They were but men, as you are sir. No genius more than the next says I, but Smith's of word, it was their trade, they peddled like any other. But men they were in a dog eat dog world, the world which I cling to, with aloofness and equal ambiguity towards hope that the word humanity is at the very least double edged.
@girlbeforemirror,
Excellent insight.
Quill
Which side of the looking glass shineth the truth?
When best to bathe folly or in sooth?
Which light or mood or thought should I conclude?
To bite the pie indulge or best allude,
Sup pon the words let ego feasts in vain,
Cower behind the veil, glisten in frame.
Five hours since I posted this, I slept but very little, as the dawn rises I write to thee, pre thought, pre waking, prior indeed to those things such as potions and poisons and remedies which I pour upon my synapses and render them fit for the day. Forgive my words if they speak in tongue, foreign or indeed not of this world, for I am not fully sound of mind, one foot still steeped in slumber, as the foreign bird calls pull me into the day. The moon bright it shon with clarity, simplicity when first I posted, boasted without hesitation. Now in light questions arise, so many possible truths illuminating into colour. Such question on mine mind as now the dream has almost vanished, vanquished am I to this. Am I yet to find the kettle? Have I caffeine in a box in which I have discovered or does it too allude? Why oh why did I not label the cartons with words of use. So many labelled in emotion "crafting crap, delusions of a bard unrealised, throw it on my pyre." Not even one labelled drink me, curiouser and curiouser.
I don't know who she thinks she is but she is not Alice, not our Alice, umm, she is most definitely not a genius, she cannot even read her own writing on a box, not so much as recall packing the boxes that she most definitely did pack and label too, for the scrawl is hers, undeniably so, yet illegible to even herself, no, this is most definitely not the work, the words of genius.
On cue or is it que or queue. It doesn't matter which for we have established genius annul, but as if by instruction of stage and play itself the kookaburra sounds to reinforce the jesting. It is time to face the music and the pile of possibly coffee pot boxes.
We're all flammable: )