The days are never really done, are they?
Another Fall Day Done
By Kira A. Moore
Cold rain falls,
Winter held in,
Crystalline drops.
Leaves drift down,
The good fight given,
Now seeking rest.
Writers are like non-violent mad people, successfully living normal lives.
Writers are Bizarre, oh yes they are. I feel certain the majority of authors know this – those who don’t have not yet had their epiphany or come to terms with the fact. If the truth be told they are more than strange, they are obsessive odd balls bordering on schizophrenia. I suspect many have prescriptions but refuse to take the psychotropic medication because it hinders their creativity. They need to feel alive; to interact with the personalities dueling inside their heads, not subdue them. Their characters must be allowed a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as well as the right to die.
Writers are bizarre, oh yes they are. From my observations this peculiarity seems to afflict creative writers especially. Creative writers and poets. Oh, poets are creative writers? Okay. Poets are a also a grievous lot. They are constantly imagining, seeing, and feeling…
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It is always good to here this joke again, especially now. I equate the Vet with the American Voters & the Doctor with the Political parties.
From jokes4all.
A vet was feeling ill and went to see his doctor. The doctor asked the usual questions, about symptoms, how long had they been occurring, etc., when the vet interrupted him: “Hey look, I’m a vet. I don’t need to ask my patients these kind of questions; I can tell what’s wrong just by looking. Why can’t you?”
The doctor nodded, looked him up and down, wrote out a prescription, handed it to him and said, “There you are. Of course, if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to have you put down.”
The irony is comprehensively reasonable.
