Conceal

Conceal: (v) to keep from sight; hide.

Ever since the first two rascals thought they could hide their genitalia beneath fig leaves (which ended up not only being ineffective but also funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
itchy) the human race has had a great affinity for concealing.

I remember some great words which state, “There is nothing whispered in the ear that shall not be shouted from the housetops.”

The first time I read that I thought, why can’t we have secrets? What in the hell is wrong with that?

Maybe it’s possible to conceal something if you have a truly trusted friend–but most human beings are so desperate for attention and appreciation that they eventually will squeal on you. They’ll insist they had a good reason, but your sins will find you out.

I’m often amused when I see politicians, religionists and even business practitioners who think they can conceal some piece of inadequacy or evil from the public.

The reason truth is always borne out is because people always want to tell–and there is always someone else with enough money to give to them, to make them “sing like a bird.”

 

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Cohabit

Cohabit: (v) to live together

Even though, like any “Frosty poet,” I enjoy a good walk in the woods, there is something that interfaces with me as I feel pine needles under my soles: all the creatures of nature are a little bit frightened of me as a human being because I’m a horrible roommate.

I don’t honor my space. Sometimes I’m late on the rent. I cook up things and leave dishes behind.

And I spread my trash everywhere, assuming that it will be taken care of by either other beings, or time and chance.

So there is a look in the eye of the racoon and a squint from the squirrel that tells me they have no intention of relinquishing their right to the ecosystem. They will fight like hell if I attack their nest or if I suggest they should be ousted from their dens.

There is a palpable defiance mingled with a pleading in their glance.

“Come on, you dumb shit. Can’t you just get along? Can’t you co-habitate with us? Do we have to growl, bite, and escape all of your plans to eliminate our species?”

Nature is kind of pissed with human beings. Why?

  • We decide to blame God, even though there’s a natural order which was put in place billions of years before any of us urped up our first mother’s milk.
  • We are so pretentious.
  • We are so easily offended.
  • We are the Mother-Earth-children of all brattiness.

Because the truth is, we aren’t satisfied with scrunching salmon and terrifying tigers. We start doing it to each other–using a color code. Sometimes it’s based upon evaluating genitalia.

But because we can’t cohabit the Earth with the turtle, we suddenly find ourselves very intolerant of those of our own race–who like to take things a little slower.

 

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Clique

Clique: (n) a narrow exclusive circle persons

Turns out, I have small hands.
According to the authorities in our political parties, that portends that I have a small penis–which means I cannot join the clique of the “Big-Penis Boys.”
I’m supposed to be greatly offended by that, thinking that if women see that I have small hands, and believe I have a tiny penis, they will lose all interest in me, even though the female vagina is only four inches deep–and what the hell would you do with the excess genitalia?
But things aren’t supposed to make sense.
Apparently, the goal is to call one another names and place each other in cliques, where we’re more easily defined, and therefore, controlled. And the purpose of the control is to eliminate the need to love all your neighbors, and only need to appreciate those with freshly trimmed grass and nice barbeques.
The only reason to ever form a clique–like the “Big Penis Boys”–is to make sure that everyone knows you’re a part of it, so you don’t have to semi-hang around with your meager brethren.
What future do we have as a species if we continue to break down into the smaller and smaller cliques which we are willing to include?
Probably none.

 

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Chaste

Chaste: (adj) abstaining from extramarital, or from all, sexual intercourse.

“To love, pure and chaste, from afar…”

‘Tis a lyric from the song, “Impossible Dream,” from The Man of La Mancha. Every time I see or hear it, I ask myself, why would anyone
want to do that?

I seem to be caught between two stubborn forces, possessing arrogant piety. Shall we refer to them as the Playboy and the Playgod crowds?

The Playgod crowd is convinced that sex is really a nasty thing and should not be implemented unless absolutely necessary for the procreation of children. Oh, every once in a while on a birthday or a holiday, you may wish to indulge. But overall, it’s a taboo subject, and certainly those who stand afar and chaste are admired for their grit.

Then there’s the Playboy philosophy, which is, “If it feels good, do it.” And if it doesn’t feel good, I have a book you may wish to purchase which may help you augment your experience.

The Playboy people mock the Playgod people as being sticks and prudes. The Playgod people have already envisioned and reserved a place in hell for those who find pleasure with genitalia.

Is there a time to be chaste?

We always need to remember that since sexuality involves two people, it is complicated by the emotions of the pair.

Maybe that’s the power of masturbation. Unless you have a predilection to argue with yourself or feel that part of you mistreated the other part during the experience, it’s pretty well over in just a few minutes.

I do not think that either the Playgod or the Playboy camps have figured out the best way to toast the marshmallows. They just have a bunch of rules dictated by individuals who are trying to be better than one another.

If I am to be chaste, it must be my decision, based upon a desire rather than intimidation or being rallied to open-mindedness.

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Biddy

Biddy: (n) a woman, usually an elderly one regarded as annoying or interfering.

Dictionary BIn the midst of a haze of delusion about my own intelligence, this morning, I once again discovered that a word that I have spelled “b-i-t-t-y” is actually “b-i-d-d-y.”

And believe you me, I have used the word.

Growing up in a small town, I was surrounded by biddies.

Even though I thought they were spelled with “t’s,” the definition held true.

There is some sickness in aging human beings that causes them to forget the total awkwardness involved in learning how things work.

  • No one is born with manners.
  • No one comes out of the womb with an understanding of how to balance a checkbook.
  • No citizen of Earth is hatched with any idea on how to handle his or her genitalia.

Mistakes are needful, obvious and prevalent.

It doesn’t take you long to silence a biddy. All you have to do is look into her past and find the times when she was irresponsible, irreverent or promiscuous.

(It’s not like any human being actually follows the Ten Commandments. We often view them, at best, as suggestions, and more often than not, as annoyances.)

So the best thing you can do as you get older is to develop a great sense of humor and realize there is no short cut to maturity.

It is a painful and clumsy walk through the thorny bramble bushes of confusion.

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Begat

Dictionary B

Begat: (v) past-tense of beget: to procreate or generate

A genealogy.

A lineage.

One day, in a fit of boredom, I opened up the Gospel of Matthew in the Good Book and began to read the names of men who lived their lives only to be given a footnote in history in reference to a child they procreated.

I was overcome with a deep sense of meaninglessness.

There has to be more to life than spawning.

I certainly love my sons, but I don’t want to be known merely as the father of offspring instead of the instigator of springing off a new idea.

Is that wrong?

Should I be more focused on the by-product of my genitalia? It annoys me because it seems to have a cave-man quality of “obsession with possession.”

And especially when I realized, upon finishing up with that lineage of Christ in the Gospel of Matthew, that the whole process was interrupted by a supernal notion from a heavenly Father–to insert a woman as the mother of Jesus and the matron of salvation.

Fascinating.

Maybe it was necessary for God to establish the lineage to emphasize its futility.

Similar to playing 24 games of tic-tac-toe before you realize that no one ever wins.

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Bare

Bare: (v) to uncoverDictionary B

I do not believe that I could ever be a nudist simply because it would be exhausting to pretend I wasn’t looking at other people’s private parts–similar to attempting to be interested in a boring person, proclaiming that all my children’s early drawings were fantastic, struggling to stay awake during a boring speech or finding a way to avoid telling someone I love that I’m a mere mortal and therefore incapable of offering the gift unconditionally.

Being naked is never a good thing because those who feel they look good without clothing are either deceived or ridiculously attractive.

I am neither. I am fat.

I have no memory of ever standing and looking down and seeing my genitalia.

Not only is that a great comedy line, but actually ends up being true. Now, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have such an apparatus; it just means that it’s not readily available for me to peruse.

So the times in my life that I’ve found myself baring my body have only occurred through hours, days, weeks and months … of first baring my soul. 

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