I still think back to those days in Japan, when I studied zazen under the guidance of Rōshi Miaki. I had been looking for something in my life, and when I stumbled upon the group of monks, quietly sitting, I knew I had found my place. Eventually, I had to acknowledge that he was not the teacher for me. His koans were too difficult to understand, and I couldn’t overcome my resentment of the way he kept throwing his feces at me. Not to mention the lice.
“…whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities.”
“The satirist is prevented by repulsion from gaining a better knowledge of the world he is attracted to, yet he is forced by attraction to concern himself with the world that repels him.”
“There is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.”
“All human race would fain be wits.
And millions miss, for one that hits.”
Alltop would fain be a wit. Verily, brother. Beauty is relative, originally uploaded by True_Bavarian.
Sometimes you feel like putting on a pretty little sundress, and prancing around in a meadow with the butterflies.
Other days, you wake up and think: rubber dress … fishnet stockings … gasmask and shotgun … fuck yeah!
But pack the sundress and a cardigan just in case. And that nice cocktail dress, and high heels, ’cause you never know…
What happens if they have a big fancy party after all the zombies are dead?
Alltop enjoys its ass-less chaps. Atomic girl, uploaded by Midnight-digital. Originally published March, 2010.
By Dr. Maximilian Tundra
Does anyone else find it mildly disturbing to be addressed as “dear”, “hon,” or “darling” by someone who is at least 10 years younger than you?
I have noticed over the past year or so that Tim Horton’s has been hiring more young servers, and they have strangely taken on some of the matronly language of the more traditional Tim Horton’s Lady. (For those of you wondering if this has something to do with Dr. Seuss, miscommunication and my penchant for bad chemicals, Timmy’s is Canadian institution and chain of coffee shops.)
This morning was particularly uncomfortable, as the young lady serving your peripatetic doctor of peyote, was also a hottie. Granted, Timmy’s tries to disguise any attractiveness their staff may have with the brown, shapeless polyester atrocities they make them wear, but there was no pretending.
“Can I get you anything else, dear?” she asked me.
Thousands of inappropriate responses flashed in my mind, somewhat dulled as it was by the morning’s peyote milkshake. (Hence the need for the high-octane caffeine that is the only redeeming quality of Tim Horton’s coffee.)
“How about a beaver tail?” I said in a strangulated voice.
“We don’t serve that, sir.”
Phew, now “sir” was more comfortable territory.