No Trips Back To Whoville For Donald

I once thought of Mr. Trump as perhaps being like the Grinch of the well-known Dr. Seuss story.  I contemplated the possibility of him somehow also experiencing a transformation in his heart.  Well, I’m afraid it’s looking grim.  I don’t believe that Mr. Trump is going to experience anything spiritually transformative during his lifetime.  There will be no happy trips back to Whoville for Mr. Donald.  He is going to have to take it up with the Grim Reaper and his talents and methods. 

Yikes, I’m afraid that my brain and thoughts have gone to crazy land.  There are lots of delightful and crazy and goofy stories to listen to there.  It’s been too long since I have felt like a nut.  It’s good to hear a bunch of nutty tales. I live in the real world though, so I can’t be spending too much time visiting crazy land.  We could all stand to be crazy sometimes though!  It’s like a library of wonder for the mind.  And sometimes a touch of crazy can make us smarter and add new levels of depth to our thinking.   I guess maybe you could think of it as peeking behind the curtains into the depths of our minds and our greatest creative potential and intelligence.  Maybe this is why I like writing these kinds of crazy contemplations.  I can be more openly nuts and few will be any more the wise accept maybe the curious AI.  The ones who seem to have a talent for gathering information from different places despite any claims to the contrary.  🤖 😱 😄

Oh no, I think I might be having a Robert Frost moment.  I am in that forest with the little horse who must think it queer to stop without a farmhouse near who gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake.  I don’t know why I’m stuck on Robert Frost and his snowy woods.  I guess I love the romantic notion of a beautiful snowy winter. ❄️ The one that is best experienced when gazing out from the farmhouse with a cozy fire burning inside.  The kind where there are no harsh elements to be dealt with.  I guess maybe this is because I was born on a bitter cold winter day on my grandfather’s birthday.  The kind of day where it would take a team of horses to drag a man back out of his house at the end of a very cold work day of oil deliveries.  A team of horses or a new granddaughter.  A birthday gift worth braving the cold again to go see.  This is the story that I was always told.  Winter is the season in which I born into this world.

No Trips Back to Whoville for Donald.  Thoughts can’t all be so serious I suppose, nor should they be.  Humor and being a little nuts are a good thing.  My grandfather loved all things silly and immature and so do I. 😄