Could you picture yourself as a Star-Bellied Sneetch, looking down your nose at those without stars? Or maybe a North-Going Zax, stubbornly stuck in your tracks, refusing to budge an inch? Many of you are and much like that ostrich, your head is in the sand.
What happens when we live in bubbles? We become so sure of our ways that we can’t even glance at another point of view. Let’s dive into a Seussian tale of echo chambers, silly spats, and the surprising magic of opening our minds!
The Tale of the Elephants and Donkeys
On a hill, not so far, and a valley nearby,
Lived Elephants grand and Donkeys spry.
They lived in their herds, apart and aloof,
Each sure that the other was silly—”Goof-proof!”
The Elephants trumpeted, “We know what’s best!
Our views are the finest, far above the rest!”
The Donkeys brayed back, “Oh, what a joke!
Your big stomping feet just kick up more smoke!”
From morning till night, they argued and bickered,
Each pointing out why the other was fickle.
“Your ideas are small!” “Your plans are absurd!”
But neither side listened—oh, not a word!
They sat in their chambers, their echo-filled halls,
With mirrors that hung on the thickest of walls.
The mirrors told tales they already believed,
And voices repeated what they’d always conceived.
“Those Donkeys are wrong!” “Those Elephants, too!”
“They’ll ruin the world with the things that they do!”
And so they stayed stuck, in their separate domains,
Each calling the other mean names and refrains.
But one sunny day, a young calf and a foal,
Both curious creatures, with hearts that were whole,
Met on the path that split hill and the valley,
And decided to chat, take a walk, and to dally.
“Your ears are quite long!” said the calf with a grin.
“And your trunk is so strong!” said the foal, leaning in.
They laughed and they talked, they shared and they learned,
And found common ground where respect could be earned.
When they told their herds of the day they had shared,
The Elephants scoffed, and the Donkeys just stared.
“How could you listen? How could you see?
They’re so very wrong—they’re not like you and me!”
But the calf and the foal, undeterred by the chatter,
Said, “The world’s much too big for such silly clatter.
If we never look past our own little views,
We’ll miss all the colors, the reds, greens, and blues!”
And soon, one by one, others tried it as well,
And the chambers of echoes began to dispel.
The Elephants listened, the Donkeys did too,
And they learned there were more than just red and blue.
So remember this tale, of the calf and the foal,
Who broke through the walls and found something whole.
The world’s much too grand to stay stuck in one view,
So open your mind—and see something new!
Echoes of Silence
I have friends, once dear, now distant and cold,
For they believe my heart does not uphold
The banner they wave, the creed they proclaim,
And in their silence, they utter my blame.
Yet they assume, for I do not cry aloud,
Nor join the fray of the thundering crowd.
Hot topics rage, the media’s snare,
Dividing souls with cunning flair.
Oh, traveler, pause in the bustling air,
Look to the screens that flicker there.
Each tuned to a single, unyielding refrain,
For gold, not truth, does the channel sustain.
Orwell foresaw, with prophetic sight,
The shadowy hand that twists the light.
At the BBC, he learned the tale,
Of how the press can deceive and prevail.
Yet still, a whisper, a hope remains,
Though shackled minds wear heavy chains.
“The truth shall set you free,” it’s said,
Though lies may linger, and trust lies dead.
Take heart, dear soul, and heed this plea:
“Illigitimi non carborundum”—stay free.
For in the battle of thought and pen,
Courage shall guide both women and men.
And Finally…
No Toes McGrew
If rage should rise at whispers from the press,
Beware, for thou art caught in their caress.
A siren’s song, it lures thee to the fray,
To blind thy reason, steal thy peace away.
They sow division, conquer with their art,
And plant their thorns within the tender heart.
Oh, pause, dear soul, and see their cunning guise,
The painted veil that clouds thy seeking eyes.
Wise up! For folly waits with bated breath,
To guide thee down the thorny path to death.
Lest thou become, like poor McGrew of lore,
Who cried, “Ready, fire, aim!”—then was no more.
Hi everyone,
I wanted to take a moment to share a little update on where I am and what I’m working on. First off, if you’ve been enjoying my attempts at poetry, please let me know—I’d love to hear your thoughts! Poetry isn’t exactly my forte, but it’s been a fun and meaningful way to express myself lately.
As for my writing, The Big Beautiful Book of Stupid Shit is now marinating in the creative process. While that simmers, I’ve turned my attention back to a project I started five years ago—a book about magick. Now seems like a perfect time to revisit it. I’ve been needing an escape from the chaos and negativity that surrounds us.
To be honest, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the constant noise. It is the news, social media, or conversations. These conversations seem to divide us more than bring us together. I know I’m not alone in this. Still, sometimes it feels like the world is full of people suffering from, well… let’s call it “rectal cranial inversion.” It’s exhausting. Stepping away from the animus that seems to pervade everything has been a necessary breath of fresh air for me.
If you’ve ever felt the same way, you’re not alone. Sometimes we need to unplug, refocus, and channel our energy into creating something meaningful rather than engaging with negativity. I’m trying to find joy in the creative process. I want to remind myself why I love connecting with all of you.
Thank you for sticking with me, for supporting my work, and for being part of this journey. I truly appreciate you, and I’m excited to share more with you all soon.
Scott
At a Sanders caucus, a college student who was caucusing for him was asked to explain socialism. She was unable to do so but, still firmly entrenched in his camp. “Oh Bernie…what a man…. (Sarcasm)”
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