The greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor. It is the one thing that cannot be learned from another and it is also a sign of genius since a good metaphor implies an intuitive perception of the similarity in dissimilars.
In theory, yes. In practice, no. I need to get up on that.
(I’m prone to rather grandiose thoughts and feelings.)
@airy3que You’re perfect.
I used to write love poems to Jesus. Thankfully, those notebooks are at mom’s place, now, or I’d feel compelled to share a scan of some loopily-pencilled missive from around age eight or nine. There probably would’ve been something about God’s tears being rain. That’s the kind of thing we’re talking about, here.
Grandma Duffy (pictured in the previous post) lived a block away from St. A’s, on Manchester. Attached to St. A’s Catholic church was St. A’s Catholic school, which I attended from 1st through 8th grade.
Clearly something happened, though. Because by the time I reached freshman year at Marymount High School and Mrs. Dario got up on her desk, hefting God’s gold-edged tome above her head, yelling “The Bible is true!” I just found the whole thing sad.
@diagramism Cuckoo’s Nest? Definitely closer to the truth.