I'll explain them as best I can....
One night I was visited by my future self. He handed me a locked box. "Keep this safe. It's too dangerous for me to hold it. See you in the future!"
All artwork in this item was created by Steev the Friction Wizurd
Ma and Pa and the Donkey lived together in a little yellow house.
"That's where we all sleep," said Pa, pointing at the bedroom window.
"I want my own room," said the Donkey.
Ma thought that was a good idea but Pa protested. "The sound of your breathing helps me fall asleep. I want you to stay."
Tensions increased as time passed and one day the Donkey moved out of the house and found a little apartment for himself where he could live his own life the way he wanted to live it.
Pa was heartbroken. He died three months later.
Ma wasted no time finding a new husband, this time a young man who had no interest in farm animals.
The Donkey often visited Pa's grave and sighed. Life on his own was not what he had expected. He was lonely. Try as he might, he was unable to make a new friend that was as good a friend as Pa had been. If he had it to do over, he would not move out. He would stay.
But it was too late now.
The Palace of Prince Aqua was guarded by a water dragon who lived in a small pool in the courtyard. How such a large dragon could live in such a small pool was a feat best explained by magic.
Prince Aqua was not a master magician. For him it was only a hobby. But he did employ a master magician on his staff, a wizard named Fragonard.
. . .
While the gods play ring toss in the sky, the Red Bird of Vengeance drops angry rants in the middle of the road.
Why must the gods behave like children? he says, while I must shoulder the responsibilities of adulthood?
You ain't got no shoulders! comes a catcall from a bystander. You're a bird!
The Red Bird of Vengeance slashes the bystander to ribbons with his razor sharp talons. I may not have shoulders, but I do have claws!
. . .
Yellowtails are notorious for their family squabbles. They will argue about anything.
They even have "traditional arguments" that are taught in school and everyone learns. An old favorite: Which came first? The bird or the egg?
Lots of arguments about pecking order. That's a daily ritual.
Child rearing? Should Billy leave the nest today? Or tomorrow? Billy insisting that his wings are too weak. He still needs parental care.
Speaking of nesting, prospective parents argue endlessly over location and materials. She prefers the lower branches for convenience; he prefers the upper branches for safety. He prefers the sturdiness of pinestraw; she prefers the soft comfort of found threads.
These arguments often end in a compromise with the nest placed in the middle of the tree and built from pinestraw interwoven with found threads.
And don't ask about going South for the winter! Is summer over or not? Who knows? Let's argue about it!
Same thing when it's time to return in the Spring. "But it's still too cold, dear!" Response: "The early bird gets the worm!"
But love conquers all. Somehow the arguments always get settled with no one getting killed or divorced. Live long and prosper, Yellowtails! You have taught me much.
. . .
Everything's fine on Hennessy Street;
The apples are ripe and the pies are sweet;
If you need a lift just direct your feet
To the broad boulevard called Hennessy Street.
The residents there like to laugh and talk;
They go out in the evening for a cooling walk;
Ask for a friend and no one will balk;
You'll find yourself chatting with friendly talk.
The buildings are odd on Hennessy Street;
No two alike - a difficult feat!
You'll never get bored as you shuffle your feet
Down the broad boulevard called Hennessy Street.
. . .
Have you heard the word about the big foot bird?
Have you watched the sky, seen the feathers fly?
Are you tempted to look him right straight in the eye?
Don't do it, guy! I'll tell you why:
He has a killer stare that can make you cry;
If he winks his eye, it means you will die;
I know it's tempting, but just turn away and sigh
And never look a big foot bird in the eye.
. . .
The fadiverse is bopping with this new actitrend!
Are you sitting home with the jelly screen
while neighbors tally forth to unspeakable pleasures?
Don't rot! Zot to your local TT center and indulge!
Paid for by the People Who Promote Transdimensional Tourism
. . .
When I was downtown yesterday I saw the three gumbos - Manny, Moe, and Max.
They were going to the Jambalaya.
I didn't say hello. They just gave me the Evil Eye.
It isn't exactly a feud between us, just a minor disagreement, really. Nevertheless, it makes me uncomfortable to know that there are three of them and only one of me.
I suppose I will eventually give in and see things their way. Until then, I will have to watch my back.
. . .
Once, when the moon was blue, an alligator wished to eat a bird.
But as the alligator opened his jaws in preparation for engulfing his snack,
the bird angrily shouted, "Don't eat me!"
The alligator cringed. "Whyyyy?" he whined. "I am very hungry."
"I don't give a fig how hungry you are," said the bird and walked on his way.
The alligator waited until the bird was out of earshot,
then let loose a string of fowl curses that predicted the downfall of the bird.
But the confident bird was already somewhere else
and had forgotten all about the fearful alligator.
The fearful alligator never forgot the confident bird.
. . .
MARCO: Barn red.
POLO: Leaf green.
MARCO: Burnt sienna.
POLO: Terre verte.
MARCO: I give up.
. . .
This was floating in my pool.
A message for me?
It had the appearance of wood-carved glyphs dipped in gold paint.
The glyphs meant nothing to me. I do not read that language. And yet someone (or some thing) went to the trouble to float them in my pool.
Wrong pool? Wrong message?
I'll never know. Last night my dolphin ate the glyphs. This morning he stole my car.
At lunchtime I receive a call from the police that the car has been found wrecked in a forest near the ocean. Leading away from the wreck is a trail of burned vegetation that ends at the shore becoming a path of fused sand down to the water which still steams a little.
I will never see the dolphin or the glyphs again.
They called him Skunk because he smelled bad.
They called her Beatrice because that was her name.
Here they are on vacation standing at the entrance near the Isaac Newton fountain.
Howling dogs were considered a bad omen by Skunk's tribe.
Beatrice was a natural blond.
They said the weather is good every day out there.
I don't know who took the picture. Mostly I don't think it matters, but sometimes, when I am looking at the pic for what seems to be the 100th time, I think if I knew who took the pic, then I would know everything. Instead, I know nothing.