A fish named dog and occasionally a sassy david

We can equally endow animals with human characteristics and humans with animal characteristics. The slutty owl and the slithering human both sound like a laugh. Yes, they ruined their social standing at some point. They both picked up on something that isn't savory to most. We have made them spectacles  in some form for our entertainment. What this all means means is we know less about animals then we do ourselves. Would a rabbit honestly be associated with punctuality? Could a human under controlled circumstances really be slimy?

Seeing as we can not communicate truly across species it is preposterous to assume we can find human qualities within an animal and vice versa. It is unfair to imaging the level of complexity that can be associated with the word loneliness inside the mind of a gorilla. We certainly won't be attempting to run around on all fours using our knuckles as cushions for our forelegs. While it is almost certain someone has, they must of logically given up soon after. No one would assume that person is now more gorilla-like than before. No one would say, "my ever since he went gorilla he has turned a corner." But my, it is easy to call someone a stupid gorilla before calling them a philistine. It is unfair to the other species.

I doubt that we could make the assumption we are much better. Imagine for a moment if we could talk to animals... Would we be brought down to their level or would they rise to a level intelligence only reserved by us? Never mind who spoke the first words. Would they say we think too much?

Simply, in the end, all I speak of is the careful use of personification and, for a stretch, anthropomorphism in one's character.

If your wondering the reverse of anthropomorphism is zoomorphism. Surprising isn't it. 

When it's okay

When is the right time? When you decide? At the end of 1, 2, 3, Go?! You decide? No, you decide? It is the same as deciding when a conversation is over, but truthfully when it isn't. No you? We can go on forever in conversation because time does without time. It does without meter. Without us. But conversations end all the time and everywhere. Similar to love it does without choice. Unlike it time does without end. So it is the wrong word to use I guess.  Maybe there is no word. You? No, you? One can never know when it is time. I, for one, am not allowed to know. You wait sometimes and it never comes. You don't other times and isn't there... Hang up?..................................................?..........

to be to be, to be

A dog with a bone is a dog with an anecdote. The time spent to dig a whole and the time spent to release and bury. Oh, the time taken to let go, for now. That bone was a laugh. It reminds me of the time I spent on this sentence. Deciding the objective let alone the subject. I delete then add and later on delete more than was previously there. You see they have nothing to do with each other. And we are all the better for it. Not so with stories.

The pleasure and the nature of the anecdote was lost long ago to the story. It was lost to closure. It was told to behave and to be honest and to be direct. Lets hope our lives are nothing like stories. Not because they end, but more so because they sometimes are long winded and boring. Stories need a purpose. In contrast, anecdotes relate to being human since they tell everything and nothing at the same time. We take what we like and do many things with the information. Most importantly nobody is held accountable. 

Empty

A smashed up paper in an empty room. Who was there before? How long has it been? Where they here because of similar interest? Most people have the choice of where they live. An empty room with a crushed piece of paper. A hurried or careless person? What is captivating about an empty room? It is the same with a new person.

It is the promise of a future. Hopefully it has no visible carpet stains. An empty room is promising though. The choice of high pile rug and satin curtains and white or colored walls is all up in the air. Its not flying though. It is in fact invisible for now, but you know what you want. It is the same with a similar person.

When you move you also leave an empty room. You can see where everything was. Where everything happened. The stains will be gone soon. The carpet installer will come to make everything look new. Its even new in the way that it is new to you. Everything that is has changed. It is the same with an old person.

"If!...?!?."

If comes with a lot. If takes on a lot. It is a best friend that lets you speak of many things. Always without interruption. It does not care for grammar with some. If, this is what would of happened: I would have said yes to pizza, no to vanilla, answered the call "speak now or forever...", told a girl yes and answered no, answered yes with a no, given the finger, made a french citizen cry, been praised for less, solved the riddle to save the town from destruction, caught a meteor, taken control of my dreams, created a new way of thinking, lost myself in a book, called a deer dear, placed chocolates on pillows, put on a mask for Halloween, stopped writing for a moment to listen, placed money underneath a pillow, taught myself the cello, correctly answered cellist, cared enough, knew when, wrote a novel, skipped a song, partied for two, stole thyme, collected chocolate coins because they are the most suitable, called for revenge, taken two steps, sought crazy and won, brought up the never ending story, given this time, said yes again, wanted Wednesdays off, convinced someone of my German heritage, used less and not fewer, and told of the things that make life interesting like following my family motto, Tomorrow.

Maybe it is the comic sans of language. Whatever it is in the end in terms of a being, it is helpful. 

as old as I

There are weeks and months, years and minutes, seconds and millenia. They are related by a very organized system, but for very unexplained reason they come at us at varying speed. Then there is the occasional moment when a clock ticks its thin red hand backward. By all standards of measurement it makes no sense. But leave it to faulty clocks to get us thinking about how bored we are. And/or how desperate we are for something else. I sometimes find myself in parts of the city that I haven't previously been to and yet I am not so content. There are probably other reasons other than I usually don't have good reason to stick around. If the ugly duckling has taught us anything is that you can stand out whether you like it or not. Time of coarse gives us a bit more of itself at this moment to ruminate......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Einstein told of a place where time slows down not of its own accord, but becuase of speed and density. That is niether an excuse for us nor an endorsment to create such senarios. Niether does it explain for the change in rate of time at the end of work and just right before a date, nor at the classic long sunset. There might be very imporant reasons why it is so, but then the situations between people are so vast and time is so unasumming that the question will go unanswered. For now it is safe to assume that maybe that is why some of us appear to be much younger than we look and why there are old souls.

Maybe in the moment after we ask time to get its shit strait time replies, "No you should."

Another Ocean

For a night I lived in a world with selective gravity. Actually the centripetal force was just greater then it is here. That was the reason why the days were shorter, but the moon still came around every so often and the sun kept us in orbit. The end result is that we lived on the ceiling. Make shift lights were hung and ladders were essential. The most important thing to remember was that there were no hand rails on our open apartment. They were now above us and completely useless. The ocean was know beneath us. It was formaly the sky. It did all the same things. At sunrise it changed from a deep violet to reds and oranges which then revealed a bright blue. It did the reverse at sunset. You also couldn't help but stare at it. And finally like the ocean and the sea this ocean was unforgiving.

I spent my time looking down on our new ocean. Sitting on the edge I sensed the same fear of falling into the first ocean, our original ocean. Just that in this one there would be no such thing as buoyancy. Likeness in many aspects of fear and love. I never saw anyone fall into the sky. Did astronauts have the same fear? Once count down is done they fly up and away. They loose their control. Their connection gone. There is something in both that is at times hard to identify. It is why we stare at the ocean. In it exist a place beyond having letting go? Essentially where it takes us no one knows. Wether it is down below or across its lengths, and in this case into space, what awaits is what it is. Only after does it start to look familiar. They are made of the things that people tell us.

My time there was short lived like many things. There weren't to many places to explore. Just two balconies that face south and an ocean. Unsuprisigly the one thing it did lack was waves.