Sent to me by a Friend
You may have seen this before but when you think about it, it makes sense.
Q: Doctor, I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Your heart only good for so many beats, and that it. Don't waste on exercise. Everything wear out eventually. Speeding up heart not make you live longer; it like
saying you extend life of car by driving faster. Want to live longer? Take nap.
Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that mean they take water out of fruity bit so you get even more of goodness that way. Beer also made of grain. Bottom up!
Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have body and you have fat, your ratio one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio two to one, etc.
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No pain ... good!
Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU NOT LISTENING! Food are fried these day in vegetable oil. In fact, they permeated by it. How could getting more vegetable be bad for you?!?
Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise muscle, it get bigger. You should only be doing sit-up if you want bigger stomach.
Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy?!? HEL-LO-O!! Cocoa bean! Another vegetable! It best feel-good food around!
Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming good for your figure, explain whale to me.
Q: Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey! 'Round' is shape! Well... I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.
And remember:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO-HOO, what a ride!!"
AND.....
For those of you who watch what you eat, here's the final word on nutrition and health. It's a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies.
1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans..
5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.
CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.
Beginning of Insanity
I am pacing up and down all two-hundred glorious square feet of my apartment. Reaching one wall then turning and going to the other wall. I am swimming laps and the pacing matches the speed of my heartbeat – a fast clip.
Then there is a knock on my door and I freeze, mid-step. Holding my breath, I tiptoe to the peep-hole and peer out. Oh. It’s her. The lady that lives downstairs with the bird. She has one forgotten curler in her sprig of grey hair and her face is pinched like a prune. I hate seeing her up this close and am thankful that she cannot meet my bloodshot eyes.
I jump as she knocks on my door again, this time even harder. Heart is pounding in my ears now. The deadbolt is turned and the door-chain is up. Thank goodness. But that doesn’t slow my breathing. Nothing does.
Muffled mumbling sounds come from behind the door and I see her little lips moving. She’s muttering something. I’m no lip reader, but it looks like a swear word.
Then she quickly turns and scuttles away to the stairwell. Good riddance. I can’t deal with her antics. Not today. Not ever.
So I return to pacing. Glancing out the window once and a while at the brick wall that is my glorious view. Brick wall and part of a balcony that houses an always-filled line of drying garments. They are always dirty-looking. It is probably the polluted air that stains them as soon as they are hung to dry. If you open your window, the pollution will make you sick.
I jump mid step again as the fridge makes a growling noise. I know it is on its last days and soon that fridge will be broken again. That repair job my landlord arranged was useless. Everything my landlord does is useless. My eyes dart up to the crack in the ceiling that was ‘repaired’ last month. It is only a matter of time before it caves in. I am sure of it. I have to get out of here before the ceiling kills me.
Maybe it is because I have been unemployed for a month. Rent is due soon. I should just pack my bags and leave in the night before I get evicted. But I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I think I will just keep pacing.
Sagittarius A*
Sagittarius A* lives in the middle of our galaxy. He is the darkest being ever seen, and he can line up almost fifty of his grandsons- the stars- across his body; in fact, his potbelly is so large that people even call him supermassive behind his back. Don't tell him though. He may get offended. He satisfies his ravenous appetite by trying to clamp his massive jaws onto everything around him- whether it be stars, dust, or even light. If a star accidentally enters his extensive territory, he will roar to life and the star will become his dessert before it can jump away. Now, Sagittarius A* prefers to spend his days sleeping while waiting for his next meal, but that wasn't always the case.
When Sagittarius A* was a young (or younger) black hole- perhaps 13.6 billion years old instead of 13.7- he was active. By active, I mean that he burnt many calories by chewing up more and more of his smaller companions. Back then, stars used to venture into his territory, and they would be snatched by his sausage-like fingers and slipped into the pockets of his jeans. Because Sagittarius A* was a bit like Miss Havisham, he enjoyed watching stars run around him like cats chasing their tails. The stars would become so excited at the prospect of escaping Sagittarius A*'s grasp, that they would begin to glow and invite their friends to the party. Together, all the stars would create so much light that it would blind anyone around them. Their ecstasy could be seen from galaxies billions of light years away, and the party continued, as oblivious stars failed to notice that Sagittarius A* gently tugged their friends away from the party, sprinkled a little salt on them, and then devoured them. The party kept continuing until all the stars were no longer, and Sagittarius had swelled to an unbelievable size.
Now, Sagittarius waits in the center of our galaxy for a daring star cluster to tickle his toes once again. He's had a few appetizers here and there, but he's licking his lips now, eagerly awaiting his first meal in a long time. In fact, I hear there's a nebula heading his way...
Gender vs Sex
Okay. So, I just got in an argument with someone about this and I'm gonna rant.
A guy is a guy weather or not he has a d*ck. A guy's d*ck does not make him a guy, It's that he says he's a guy and he believes he is one. Some guys have d*cks and some guys have va*inas. What's between your legs doesnt make you who you are. You figure that out through life. Between your legs is your sex, In your mind is gender. Just because you dont have a d*ck between your legs doesnt mean your less of or not a guy. Same for women. It doesnt matter what she has between her legs. Va*ina or not. She is still a women and she is still valid.
Gender is nothing but a social construct. It's these steriotypes society implaints in us since the moment we are born. You are either a boy or a girl. Blue is for boys, Pink is for girls. Girls do this, Guys do that. Your gender is based on what you were born with between your legs. Guys are masculine, Girls are feminine. Guys play sports, Girls stay pretty. NONE of this is true. A girl can be masculine and a guy can be feminine. A girl can do or be whatever she wants to no matter what society says because she is her own person and society does not control her. A guy can be dor do what ever he wants because he is a singular individual.
Some people even choose to not to associate with any of these social constructs and can identify as non-binary or agender. They are still valid. It still doesnt matter whats between their legs. Some people associate with both and can identify as bigender. Still valid. Still doesnt matter whats in their pants. Some people are born intersex. First, they were born that way. They are still valid. They can still be who they want despite what society says.
NONE of these people are weird. They are valid and beautiful.
NEVER ask someone what is in their pants if you cant tell weather they are a girl or a boy because, First, they may be both or they may be neither. Second, it's extremely rude. Would you go ask any other person what's in their pants? No.
Gender is a social construct. This is not set in stone from the moment you are born. This is determined by what you feel you are.
Sex is what's in your pants. This is placed when you are born and will stay the same unless you get sex reassignment surgery.
A Thought
The problem is not that the money lies unevenly between the demographics.
The problem is the ubiquity of money and its prevalence in our transactions around the community, forming the medium by which we obtain goods, and render services.
But the use of currency as a pretext for transactions encourages us to believe that there must always be a cost for such goods and services, and that cost can be calculated in the global currency exchange, making thus currency the most powerful commodity on the globe.
As we know, the system can be easily manipulated, forming a stark misbalance of wealth, and because of this attitude of cost, it is difficult to provide ongoing services to support those suffering from the consequences of the wealth inequality.
What if we dispense with the pretext of cost? Remove it altogether from the table for a little while. No currency for one year, say, throughout the community.
You’d expect to see all businesses close down. People wouldn’t drive their cars because they wouldn’t be able to buy petrol. Mums wouldn’t be able to buy formula for their babies.
But what you would also expect to see is people hauling together, helping each-other learn how to survive, how to live.
We would have to grow all our own food, we would interact more with our neighbours, or strangers in the street.
People would do things for one another that would help a true community flourish, rather than helping the system of currencies flourish, that makes the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.
I mean, I’m sure there’d be violence and pillaging here or there, but hey! Isn’t there already?
Anyway! It’s just a thought.
Thought I’d better... write it down.
3 tastes of honey
1. fireweed honey
light, sweet, delicate; pale
and translucent but just a hint
of glimmer and glitter, like sequins
on a party dress of palest blush
for your daughter just 16; the kind of gleam
when dawn is too shy to peek over the hills
and teases you with the edges of her light;
the sweet brush of your mother’s hand
on your cheek at bedtime and the sweep
of your father’s thumb across your forehead in a nightly blessing
you think it should burn, from its name,
but instead it’s the warmth of a baby’s giggle
2. wildflower honey
thicker, grainy, not as sweet
but bolder, bigger, brighter. it comes
across the meadow, laughing and dancing,
making no apologies for its heftier frame
because why should a wildflower be ashamed of anything?
they grow rough and tumble as they wish,
though still sweet, because wildflowers are flowers, too.
no delicate hothouse varieties, but something sturdy
enough to spread in brambles and fields.
this is a cup of tea.
3. creamed honey
pearlescent and smooth, coming to you
like wisdom and weather and something ageless;
a swish of skirts in a studied, swirling spin across
the boards of a ballroom floor; it’s dark outside
but in here the lights are on, the music is playing,
and he’s looking at you with the moon in his eyes
and stars burn in your throat and maybe
tonight will never end, and you’ll waltz in his arms forever.
#siwc #siwc2017 #workshoppoetry #sensoryinput #honey
Hindsight
My eyes don't work the way they used to see,
Straight lines as curves, I watch distorted views;
I cannot tell what's right in front of me.
I look ahead but can't make pole from tree,
The information gathered I can't use;
My eyes don't work the way they used to see.
I have to guess what shapes they ought to be,
From bits and pieces forced in place and glued;
I cannot tell what's right in front of me.
This is a blindness, all must now agree,
Though damage just to one small spot is true;
My eyes don't work the way they used to see.
I'm left to struggle with periphery,
Whose data into sight I cannot fuse;
I cannot tell what's right in front of me.
I was so scared when I first got the news,
To lose my sight my life it then did skew;
My eyes don't work the way they used to see,
I cannot tell what's right in front of me.
[For my mother, who struggles every day.]
#seeahead #challenge #poetry #villanelle #AMD
(c) 2017 Miriam Ruff