Waterfall

Unknown to all but the wise, a waterfall protects THE secret. It is a unknown because only the few who know, know and those few will never reveal what they know. Within the hidden depths of an ancient desert oasis, the water burbles out of the ground and within a few feet tumbles in amongst a blind cliff falling into a lost cavern where the torrent of water then disappears into unknown darkness. Between the cavernous cliff face and the curtain of frothing water exists a space large enough for a big man to stay dry but only if he is very careful upon his approach sidling the last several feet so as not to be dashed upon the rock by the force of falling water. This is always done with trepidation as within the cavern lives poisonous snakes, spiders, and scorpions not to mention the hidden traps. Once positioned just so, he is able to reach one arm around a protruding rock to pull a hidden lever which when done correctly triggers the opening of a cleverly disguised door under the recesses of the overhang.

Cross posted From http://ficly.com/stories/37675

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Ficly

I did it again…. started something new.  Or perhaps I should say restarted something old.  Back in the day I was a Ficlet user under an old Pseudonym.  I knew there was an archive out there of our old stories but I didn’t know that the phoenix had risen.  Well, sort of different branding different programmers…. well not quite.  It’s a whole thing but – but it’s explained fairly well on Wikipedia and on the Ficly website as well.

I started out tonight looking for the archive, found it, discovered Ficly, signed up, and wrote a story.  My inaugural story can be located at http://ficly.com/stories/37675

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Walking in the Shoes of John Watson

for him as a constant companion.’

 

‘Why, what is there against him?’

 

‘Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him.  He is a little queer in his ideas — an enthusiast in some branches of science.  As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.’

 

‘A medical student, I suppose?’ said I.

 

‘No — I have no idea what he intends to go in for.  I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes.  His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish his professors.’

 

‘Did you never ask him what he was going in for?’ I asked.

 

‘No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.’

 

‘I should like to meet him,’ I said.  ‘If I am to

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Walking in the Shoes of Augustine

servants.  Yet now, in ungrateful pride and most impious madness, and at the risk of being punished in everlasting darkness, they perversely oppose that name under which they fraudulently protected themselves for the sake of enjoying the light of this brief life.

 

Chapter 2. – That it is Quite Contrary to the Usage of War, that the Victors Should Spare the Vanquished for the Sake of Their Gods.  There are histories of numberless wars, both before the building of Rome and since its rise and the extension of its dominion; let these be read, and let one instance be cited in which, when a city had been taken by foreigners, the victor spared those who

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Walking in the Shoes of Matthew Henry

our duty and happiness: so that, let a man be ever so desirous and solicitous to do his Maker’s will, he must, without remedy, perish in the ignorance of it, since there is no book but this that will undertake to tell him what it is, a consequence which can by no means be reconciled to the idea we have of the divine goodness. And (which is no less an absurdity), if the scriptures be not really a divine revelation, they are certainly as great a cheat as ever was put upon the world: but we have no reason to think them so; for bad men would never write so good a book, nor would Satan have so little subtlety as to help to cast out Satan; and good men would never do so wicket a thing as to counterfeit the broad seal of heaven and affix it to a patent of their own framing, though in itself ever so just. No, there are not the words of him that hath a devil.

IV.  That the scriptures of the Old and New Testament were purposely designed for our learning.  They might have been a divine revelation to those into whose hands they were first put, and yet we, at this distance, have been no way concerned in them; but it is certain that they were intended to be of universal and perpetual use and obligation to

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Walking in the Shoes of John Donne

THE LEGACY.

WHEN last I died, and, dear, I die
As often as from thee I go,
Though it be but an hour ago
– And lovers’ hours be full eternity –
I can remember yet, that I
Something did say, and something did bestow;
Though I be dead, which sent me, I might be
Mine own executor, and legacy.

I heard me say, “Tell her anon,
That myself,” that is you, not I,
“Did kill me,” and when I felt me die,
I bid me send my heart, when I was gone;
But I alas! could there find none;
When I had ripp’d, and search’d where hearts should lie,
It kill’d me again, that I who still was true
In life, in my last will should cozen you.

Yet I found something like a heart,
But colours it, and corners had;
It was not good, it was not bad,
It was entire to none, and few had part;
As good as could be made by art
It seem’d, and therefore for our loss be sad.
I meant to send that heart instead of mine,
But O! no man could hold it, for ’twas thine.

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Walking in the Shoes of Kerouac

Book of Sketches

his twin brother. In Southern
accents – “Thats what
ah think!” – they
discuss that splendid
grasscutter – Cars come
& park, & go – Cars
hurry on the hiway to
home,
“Wait till after
supper,” says Carolyn to
LP, “we’re ready to
eat now – ” as
he complains
“Ah – nao!”

but the complaint’s not
serious & doesnt last
long – And the air
is fragrant from cut

The Original Scroll

really bloomed and opened up the land. There went our wrangler. And this was really the way that my whole road experience began and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell. I’ve only spoken of Neal in a preliminary way because I didn’t know any more than this about him then. His relation with Allen I’m not in on and as it turned out later, Neal got tired of that, specifically of queerness and reverted to his natural ways, but that’s no matter. In the month of July, 1947, having finished a good half of my novel and having saved about fifty dollars from old veteran benefits I got ready to go to the West Coast. My friend Henri Cru had written me a letter from San Francisco saying I should come out there and ship out with him on an around the world liner. He swore he could get me into the engine room. I wrote back and said I’d be satisfied with any old freighter so long as I could take a few long Pacific trips and come back with enough money to

On the Road

razor and saved a half each in their wallets. Dean was wearing a real Western business suit for his big trip back to Denver; he’d finished his first fling in New York. I say fling, but he only worked like a dog in parking lots. The most fantastic parking-lot attendant in the world, he can back a car forty miles an hour into a tight squeeze and stop at the wall, jump out, race among fenders, leap into another car, circle it fifty miles an hour in a narrow space, back swiftly into tight spot, hump, snap the car with the emergency so that you see it bounce as he flies out; then clear to the ticket shack, sprinting like a track star, hand a ticket, leap into a newly arrived car before the owner’s half out, leap literally under him as he steps out, start the car with the door flapping, and roar off to the next available spot, arc, pop in, brake, out, run; working like that without pause eight hours a night, evening rush hours and after-theater rush hours, in greasy wino pants with a frayed fur-lined jacket

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