PHILOSOPHERS AND ALIENS ON EMPTY STREETS
Mihai ȘORA is a 103-year-old Romaian philosopher with a to-do list during lockdown, and thoughts about aliens. SORA’s idea conjures up black and white horror films of the 1950s.
“Musings on how weird it would be for aliens who show up when the streets are empty:
Am ieșit o clipă pe balcon; pustiu peste tot.
Numai de n-ar veni acum extratereștrii: nu s-ar cuveni să nu-i aștepte nimeni cu pâine și sare-n poartă.”
Translated: Walked out on the balcony for a moment; deserted everywhere. Only if the aliens didn’t come now: it wouldn’t be appropriate for no one to wait for them with bread and salt in the gate.”— posted on Facebook by Mihai ȘORA
Read the entire article on Big Think here.
PHOTOGRAPHS AND ANGELS
Speaking of aliens, except not “aliens,” more like angels… the photographs (and videos) that Jennifer Battershill has captured are quite amazing. I added one to my Resources page on my author’s website because these images mimicked the made-up directional formulas from my book (> <). Check it out http://marylaforge.net/resources
The fun doesn’t stop there. Here’s a true story and a Battershill photo to match:
I attended an event at a posh resort and because I didn’t have a car I had to call a taxi. It was Summer so I stood outside. Since the taxi claimed somewhat of a wait before they could arrive, I walked around the exquisite grounds. Taking shade under a tree, I began hearing an unusual sound. Thinking it was a bird of some sort I paid little attention. Then again the sound caught my attention. Soon the sound had hopped from one part of the tree to another, then another, and another. I imagined at first it was a bird hopping from branch to branch but suddenly the sound came from two different places at the same time. Oh, I thought, two birds! Then three, four… a chorus of sounds. Not birds though because I saw no birds. I laughed and imagined they must have been invisible tree leprechauns. Battershill’s photo captures that scene exactly as I remember it.
ANGELS IN TREES
The Magenta Tree On the way to nowhere urgent unimportant in the scheme of things steps took me down a boulevard on cracked and weathered concrete paths, unmowed lawns with statues poised, still, as if they froze in time in the middle of some episodic happy song. On such a path no lofty thoughts seem near this dreary worldly country burb is smaller than a bullfrog’s mating call. Yet, in the space of minute time intrusion by protruded branch of fine magenta hue, a smile alighted on my face being greeted by the waving, fluttering flowered branch that lightly touched my hand as I pursued such mundane things as lunch.
Writer of metaphysical philosophies. Winner of the Literary Titan Silver Book Award
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