SENSITIZE 32
Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his audience.
Today: Politics, religion, business and entertainment are in agreement for the first time. Why is this?
Click the picture below to see the video
Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4029)
Sitting Seventeen
The desert has little to offer—mainly the presence of persistence.
After Karin left Iz and Pal, they were suddenly overtaken by the sleep of exhaustion—just two boys, lying flat on their backs in the ragged remains of a tent, deeply asleep, overcome by worry and woe, welcoming the needed rest, yet nervous about the pending dreams.
And there were dreams.
Iz floated, his body upheld in a liquidy glue of moisture, suspended a few meters above his family’s home. He tried to flip himself over, to look into the windows and see Pada, but he was held down, some force holding his arms, squeezing his legs, forbidding movement. Then it was as if the glue became thicker and oozed around his nostrils, threatening to suffocate the life from him. Struggling, he loosened himself and fell, landing on the roof of his home, hearing the crack of a bone in his right leg.
Voices ascended to the rooftop where he was impaled, writhing in pain. They were mentioning his name. It was “Jubal this” and “Jubal that.” Nothing he could actually discern, nor words that were perceptible. More an angry, disapproving tone.
He was in pain. Then, all the bones in his body started to break, one by one. Gradually the agony was displaced by oblivion. He melted like a piece of ice on a hot summer’s day, his body dribbling down the walls, through the window, pooling in a puddle on the floor of his home. It seemed he was all there—eyes, nose, hands, ears. But each part separated—a toe where an ear should be, a mouth replacing a knee. Gleaming, watery, flat against the ground, he was trying to see, attempting to find Pada.
Then there was a sound—a whoosh of a broom. Dust flew around his puddle of life. He choked—coughing, wheezing. The broom was sweeping him, pushing him toward the door. He splattered down the steps of his home, gushing his life away and landed on the bottom step in a splat—but somehow, once again, whole. Free of all broken bones and molten flesh.
Iz tried to stand but could not. Instead he walked backward on his hands like a crab, reconnoitering his way into the street, which was busy with cars and buses. Yet no one saw him. No one noticed the crab boy creeping along. All at once, a giant hand wearing a yellow shirt-sleeve reached down and picked him up by his right arm, yanking him into the air and placing him at the gate of what appeared to be a great shining city—an ancient site. There was carvings of gold and statues of granite and cedar. He did not know any of the figures, just that they were large, massive and overwhelming.
The gate suddenly opened, and he heard laughter. No—giggling. It was much younger. Free, absent of trouble, broken bones and gelatin flesh. Then a dog, barking at the gate, and men with beards who came and packed him up, carrying him into the city, as a beautiful woman with long, black hair stepped forward and kissed him. It was not the smooch of a sister, but rather, the caress of a friend who would be a lover or at least as much as a twelve-year-old mind could conjure.
He was giddy with the sights and sounds. He was stimulated even more by the woman’s lips. The bearded men carried him on to a huge castle, where he entered the portals and seemed to disappear forever more.
Iz awoke with a start. It was nighttime.
There was a single candle lit, and Pal sat in the shadows, staring at him. “Did you have a dream?” he asked.
Iz was not sure whether he was awake, or if this was part of the continuing saga.
Pal spoke again. “I had a dream.”
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Cracked 5 … July 17th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3736)
Things the Queen of England was Overheard Saying
A. “Crowns make my face look fat”
B. “How does one get promoted from here?”
C. “I have castle but I’m not allowed to behead serfs.”
D. “I have a large boat and a rock group named after me. Eat that.”
E. “Met Donald something or other…”
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Peter Thomas … April 21, 2013
(1,858)
I speak boldly in the shadows and whisper in the light
I proclaim the goodness of God, yet pout when it rains
I am a fisher of men, trapped in my own net
I pray for miracles while growing weary in well-doing
I am a voice crying in the wilderness, complaining of a sore throat
I hurl rocks at the castle and quickly run away before the giant eats me
I love my neighbor in theory as I challenge him on the facts
I am outraged by the atheist while frequently ignoring God
I believe in the whole Bible and dust it off each month
I am the beckoned explainer who arrives confused
I am the singer of the hymn and the doubter of Him
I am an insecure expression of belief
I am a concession of faith
I am Peter, the preacher
And Thomas, the tongue-tied
I am both, as ordained to be
For too much faith makes me obnoxious
And an abundance of doubt renders me powerless
I am as God would have me
Sentenced to be an exclamation point
Sitting next to a question mark
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