Writing My Mind

Monster Trucks and Sausages

Someone gave me free tickets to the monster truck show at the county fair, entitling me to be among the privileged few to witness a huge, elevated truck smash into a motor home.

As I chewed on the tougher parts of my fat-laden giant sausage, I surveyed the enthusiastic monster truck audience, watched them cheer for the wheelie-popping trucks, and mused on just how fragile our participatory democracy truly is.

~ by Russ Allison Loar
~ Photograph by FlagWorld.com
~ From My Incarnation.com
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The Newer Colossus

Don’t give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
I extinguish my lamp beside the golden door.
Go away.
We’re full.

~ by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

# 176:

Jesus, the embodiment of God.
The only one?
What about you? What about me?
Even the tiniest blade of grass
reaches toward the light.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

~ Photograph by Russ Allison Loar

Click on photo to enlarge

Life On The Moon?

M y grandfather, Herman Allison, born August 4, 1885, in Morgan's Mill, Texas, once told me that when he was a schoolboy, a topic for debate was:

"Is the moon inhabited?"

He lived long enough to see Neil Armstrong stand on the moon, on television.

# 163:

Popeye

Dear Sirs,

I am Popeye, the sailor man. Although it pains me deeply to admit it, I do, in fact, live in a garbage can. Despite my impoverished habitat due to temporary setbacks too numerous to mention at this time, let me assure you that I will, nevertheless, be strong to the finish, because I “eats” me spinach, because, all in all, when push comes to shove, at the core of my being, I am still Popeye, the sailor man.

Regards,

P.S. Man

~ by Russ Allison Loar
~ Illustration from Wikimedia.org
© All Rights Reserved