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The Adrenaline Runs Quick When The Queen Enters

Happy crucifiction everyone!...

Happy crucifiction everyone!...

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my girl
You're so sweet and thoughtful. I'm sure to be ever so much better, get on with the healing, perform some internal magic ~keep growing as a person, possibly a metamorphosis. I am reading Alice Munro of the Southern Ontario Gothic and as you know I am easily influenced by creepy Canadian female writers (atwood is included here)well, mainly just Alice. And so as I am saying a cheery and true, "I'm sure to be better!" I cant help but become a character in a munro story. Cheerfully chatting on while I measure out poison slit from the red veins of the ancient back-yard rhubarb plant, planted the year the pretty twin drowned in the well.

I'M JUST FINE OK WANT A CUP OF TEA? A NEW ~flavoured~ TEA JUST SHIPPED IN FROM THE "ORIENT."

The "orient" isn't a word used in polite, educated society, places where they care about racist tones and know applying the exotic texture over the unknown is wrong. Also the suspicious use of flavoured tea would give the whole thing away.

Therefore, I present the friendly wood-cutter version:

We'll do things in a more primitive, hardy manner. We'll go out into the bush, "the deserted forest", where trees of all kinds mingle in tangles, not at all laid out and orderly. I'll talk to you about how the oak is the fairytale tree. We'll muse over whether England still has oak-groves. Do they, our fore-mothers, for really we are borne of women, do they dot their backyards with oak trees like we do with the maple? We're far removed from our roots and we laugh over the question, England as remote as Mars. Do they even have yards?

Then there'll be a bashing or maybe a slip of the axe. Do you know early settlers had so many misfortunes with axes, lost so many limbs some would only cut trees while standing in protective, steel buckets? I learned that in my Culinary History of Canada book.

ANYWAY.

AN ACCIDENT,
and perhaps someone left behind
a slate wiped clean, temporarily, at least,
with the season's first lasting snow,

or with the birth of our saviour Jesus Christ kiss,


XX
  • Is this a developing short story? Scribblenotes?
    • hmm, no not really. It is more a concoction of how I was feeling with a couple of the plots I associate with southern ontario gothic with a little twist of Lori imagination and current thoughts.

      However, thinking about your post last night, it came to me there is a nugget or two I might like to explore a little further :) <3 SO MAYBE MAYBE!
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