The Symbol

tltweek112We always enjoy the company of literature majors.  We often read William Blake’s “Songs of Innocence” too.       

It’s Holy Week, heading toward Easter.   Now we can inspire everyone to clean up his act.   



People always claim we’re supposedly not all that bright but hey we’re mighty good as symbols.




Here’s yet another of me attempts at 3LIneTales


This week’s photo comes from Sam Carter


on Unsplash.






Porphyria’s Cat

kittenPorphyria’s cat had always been quite concerned about her latest beau.                                                                                                     “I don’t care what any of you say,” he told his friends. “I just don’t trust this creep!”                                                                                                                                                      One particularly cold, stormy, windy night, his suspicions were proven right.                                                                                       After having lit the fire and gotten comfortable she sat next to Lover Boy. The gorgeous blue~eyed blondie, who had always been the object of his narcissist obsession, fell prey to his sadistic side.                                                                                                                                                                           The cat was quite stunned.                                                                                                               “I can’t believe it!” he gasped helplessly. “That moron’s strangled my beloved owner.”


He gazed at the deranged scene.  The lady’s dead body, and her maniacal boyfriend, sat side by side.                                                                                                       

The cat couldn’t imagine what to do. His heart was broken. Overwhelmed with disbelief that such a horrid spectacle could possibly be met with such equally intense silence, he trembled helplessly. Amazingly, the fire went on crackling, the clock continued ticking, all was as before. 


Don’t they even know what’s happened?” he pondered. The very air was overwhelmed with complete madness as the killer just sat there, smug in his obsessive selfishness. Smiling, even laughing, he truly knew how to break a cat’s heart. 


Here’s yet another attempt at Flash Fiction For the Practical Practitioner




I got the idea to write a story based upon Robert Browning’s poem,  “Porphyria’s Lover”


Photo credit goes to Morgue File

Sadie and Tio

“Why do you have all the barbed wire?” Clarence asked Wendell.

“Isn’t that the guy from the Grateful Dead?” his friend quipped. He then went on to explain.

“Sadie is a terrified neurotic and Tio is hyperactive like crazy. We have to keep them locked up or the neighbors will flog us but good.”

“Ophelia and I are doing all we can to keep a barrier between them and western civilization.”

“I don’t envy you,” his friend chided him. “That’s why Beulah and I want no part of pets. We’re happy with our painting of dogs playing poker.”

Our Fairy blogmother each week is Rochelle Wisoff~Fields , at Friday Fictioneers. This week’s photo prompt was supplied by Madison Woods.

food glorious food

 For as long as  I can remember I’ve always been quite a most hearty eater. My niece, Bridget, and nephews, Michael and Sam, have frequently passed remarks about how it’s so difficult for anyone to find out about my tastes in food because I always eat anything that’s put in front of me.  I can remember that when I was a kid in Jackson Heights I’d always considered strawberry my least favorite flavor of ice cream, and I’ve never been crazy about spaghetti or most kinds of seafood.  As a youngster I’d never liked liver but a few years ago I ate some with onions, when Uncle Frankie made it. I quite enjoyed it.  Lasagna has always been my favorite food, and home made apple pie my favorite pastry.  I now attend a church where a very large number of the parishioners are from Hispanic countries and the Orient. It’s quite enjoyable for me to go to  their parties and fund raisers because I can try all kinds of exceptionally funky new foods.  I enjoy going to restaurants with distinctive menus because then I get a chance to try new things ranging from goat to buffalo. There is only one problem with my eating habits. I have quite an insatiable need to finish each and every single last morsel on my plate, no matter how difficult it is for me to handle it. I should suppose it is a kind of a neurotic quirk.  People have often complained that it strikes them as more pathological than conscientious.  Of course I have absolutely no patience whatsoever with the vegetarians’ insatiable need to run our lives. I defiantly reject absolutely everything they stand for. The very idea of animal rights is simply insane anyway.

ooh that smell. can’t you smell that smell?

It’s not something anybody necessarily bothers to think twice about but the world has always been overwhelmingly filled with exceptionally impressive fragrances.    Over my lifetime I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed the scents of all things relevant to a barbecue, from the food to the charcoal and even the lighter fluid.     The wafting aroma of the smoke is quite fine.    Of course we simply can’t possibly forget the smell of all different kinds of coffee and tea.    The smell of fresh flowers in the spring and summer is amazingly nice too.   It’s a perfect contrast to the bleakness and desolation of the cold months.       Many people find the smells of after shaves, perfumes and colognes very hard to handle but I also get quite an exceptionally fine impression of them .    Although I can understand that things like that can be unbearable for many people I’m so happy in that world.     I often hang around in the cologne and perfume departments of stores just to enjoy the fine aromas.    Over the years I’ve always kept quite a supply of cologne, after shave and toiletries.   If I ever had a significant amount of money, I’d be so seriously tempted to go entirely overboard and to purchase all kinds of things like that.     Because of my never having liked animals it might be quite difficult to believe but I find the smells of farms and zoos to be  terribly impressive.    Somehow quite a wide variety of olfactory stimuli can keep me intoxicated in in such an exceptionally nice way.    Like sounds, smells can be irresistible.     If one knows where to go he can find very easily that life is often a never ending festival of fragrances from incense in church to candles in places like Pier One Imports.    Unfortunately life most certainly has its share of quite seriously nasty smells too, as well as repugnant sounds.   It’s all a part of the price that simply must inevitably be paid for the really good ones.

the patron saint of the far out

If, three hundred years from now, I could be named the patron saint of something,   it would have to be anything offbeat.   I’ve always had quite an eccentric sense of humor and a somewhat distinctive approach to life in general too.   Even as a kid I was always the one with the obnoxious annoying attitude and disposition.    My way of dealing with things isn’t really the least bit bad.   It’s just entirely distinctive in the sense of my always seeming to come up with the kinds of ideas and behavior that strike other people as hard to understand.    I seem to specialize in all sorts of things that no one else is quite ready for.   In a world where practically everyone really likes sports, animals and “Star Trek”, I’ve never been even the least bit interested in any of them.   When my cousins and I used to bowl, a while ago with the Knights of Columbus, I was often put on the spot because even though I’m left handed, I’ve always really liked to wear my watch on my left wrist.    Everyone complained that no one ever wears his watch on his dominant wrist.     Even though I’ve never been the least bit interested in sports I’ve always told people that the Mets are my favorite team because when I was a kid I lived in their neighborhood.    People frequently reminds me that if someone doesn’t even like sports then by definition he can’t possibly have a favorite team.   My sense of humor is another trait in which I specialize in veering always toward the overly distinctive.    A distinguishing trait of my approach to humor is my never ending tendency to bombard people with references which no one recognizes.    In my world there’s nothing so interesting as the never ending barrage of non sequiturs.     It would be quite accurate to say that my never ending unpredictability has always been my trademark.     It kind of helps that I’ve also always been quite knowledgeable about all sorts of obscure things, sort of like a combination of Cliff Clavin and Diane Chambers.   Just imagine the kind of son they could have had.   That’s pretty much how I am.    It’s not that I deliberately go out of my way inevitably to say and to do things that are in any way whatsoever the least bit maliciously inappropriate.    I’m just a bit too far out for just anyone’s taste.    If, however, someone is willing and able to try to handle an exceptionally colorful trip with all sorts of hep twists and turns, having me around can be quite enjoyable.

the evils of exaggeration

It was ages and ages and ages ago

Or at least that is what I have always been told.

That our tale did transpire in the lovely sweet shire

Where there once was the kingdom of Marigold.

O in Marigold way there back then did reside

A handsome young groom and his lovely young bride.

The groom went by the name of one Albert McGee

And the silliest young man you ever did see

Could never compare

With young Mr. McGee.

O our Albert’s curse, now for better or worse,

Was that he was a spinner of tales.

O nothing much ever couldn’t happen to him

That he didn’t make better or worse.

He never could go on a simple boat ride

Without getting the overblown notion

That he’d been all marooned, perhaps even harpooned,

By pirates out on some huge ocean.

He couldn’t just be in the fine company

Of some puppies or horses or cats

Without turning them into

A truly mean bunch of

Vampires and dragons and rats.

O one fine day our friend Albert truly got an important come-uppance.

And to see the looks of the smirk on his face

I’d pay many and many a tuppence.

The townspeople gathered, all angry and blathered

Whereupon they did firmly declare:

“O Albert , you teller of tall tales,

To deceive us once more don’t you dare!”

They put their naughty friend in the dungeon

Where he has been imprisoned since then

O from that moment on he was truly

A most horrible wretch among men.

So the point of my tale, I must tell you,

Should you tell a tall tale now and then

O please try not to be like poor Albert  McGee

Who will never be heard from again.