Past Ghosts of Dinosaurs

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“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.” ~ Joseph Chilton Pearce

“Anxiety is the handmaiden of creativity” ~ T. S. Elliot

“Creativity is an act of defiance.” ~ Twyla Tharp

“Keeping busy” is the remedy for all the ills in America. It’s also the means by which the creative impulse is destroyed.” ~ Joyce Carol Oates

“The thing is to become a master and in your old age to acquire the courage to do what children did when they knew nothing. ” ~ Ernest Hemingway

There’s a photo at the top of my Facebook newsfeed at the moment which clearly shows Micky Mouse looking all smug. Or maybe it’s a meme? Meme, photo, whatever. Usually I would let such a thing pass right through my field of perception, unaddressed past acknowledgement. But something caught my eye, so I looked. It was all about booze; sugar-laden cocktails; fancy, clever, pretty concoctions. There was even an image of Simba, the Lion King, gazing lovingly at a peachy tropical blend in a frappe glass. No worries, right? Yeh, right. This brings me to another thing, which my free-range mind associates with an obscure book from Carl Hiassen, a longtime columnist for the Miami Herald, and a prolific novelist, stories drawn forth from the plethora of quirkiness that is life in Florida. The book I note here is non-fiction, and it is a rather scathing critique of Mickey Mouse, and Disney in general, and how the corporation and the rodent colluded in building Disney World. The book: Team Rodent: How Disney Devours the World. (the underlined portion is a link). I highly recommend the book. It is a short and scathing blend of investigative journalism and satire worthy of Twain. Not to mention that Carl Hiassen is hilarious. Boy howdy is he ever. Not that . . . . must be positive, right? Carl is on my personal list of writers who inspired me. Now, going forward, that opening may well be the only portion of rational thought in my mind, so far today. But I’ve gotta work today, and running a cash register requires rationality. No, wait . . . we call ’em POS now. It’s a friggin computer wired up to a cash drawer. Ummmm, “Siri, take his money”. Anyway, my sense of time has been all wonky and stuff for several months now. I’m at the tail-end of two back-to-back days off, and let me tell you those two have been twelve. I don’t know how to say it any better. I’ve not taken the time to analyze the phenomenon, so I cannot speculate as to why and how this time distortion is occurring on an extended basis. No worries. The Sunday drive up to Colorado plays a part, to be sure. New Mexico State Highway 522 runs through some amazing territory, running past extinct volcanos, the ghosts of dinosaurs, and living herds of wild horses. Actually the horses are in Colorado. The highway number changes to a Colorado designation at the border, but I don’t wanna mess up that nice sentence with details. The whole drive is like a trip back in time. This is, after all, creative non-fiction I write here daily. Such as it is. Alas, I have run out of creative time for this morning. Shower, shave, you know the drill.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

 

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