The big news, for me anyway, is that I will be involved in extensive field surveys for the next month or so. My blogging duties will be limited during this time. I may get back for a few short weekends, but am pretty much going to be out of the loop. In the meantime, I would be curious what you think is behind the door below…overthinking is welcome. Enjoy, FJ.
The headless torso of Thomas Kinkade.
…buried amongst the flowering shrubbery, adjacent to the sparkling pool.
where BKT is knitting and sipping some elderberry wine….
And plotting to take over the world…
by entangling everything up in her yarn.
“Once mankind is entangled in my sinister ball of yarn, the world will be mine! Bwehahahaha!” she laughed (mightily, manically and menacingly, I might add).
I do have quite the maniacal laugh, you know.
then who should appear from behind the bushes, but…….
Her minions, the twin mischief-makers Yarn Ball No 1 and Yarn Ball No. 2.
Who then started to do, the things that they do…
pulling the mighty web of yarn apart and spinning themselves round and round in it until they both became walking yarn zombies.
“Go, my little zombie pretties!” she cackled gleefully, “go out and wrap mankind in scratchy sweaters, thick mitts, unbelievably long scarves and all other things yarn! Bwehahaha!”
So, off they shuffled into the moonlight night (it took them several hours to wrap themselves entirely). BKT had cast her spell upon them so there were no tears shed, even though deep down, they were scared of the dark…….
In order to overcome this fear, they wrote a book entitled “Even Zombies Are Afraid of the Dark”
It became a best seller and they became instant zombie celebrities.
Soon the movie offers began to pour in…
and the moral of this story is no matter how much one knits, the final stitch can unravel and become a fantastic yarn.
Very nice!
Much fun!! We’ll have to do it again sometime! Sweet dreams!
Gee…I was just going to say the bathroom or make some comment about “Beyond the Green Door” but yours is more creative.
Well-played…both of you!!
The Cramps did a great cover of “Green Door,” which I think finally gave the song the raunch it really deserved.
Masterful work, ynb & al f. Quite the yarn-spinning. I haven’t seen anything like that since I gouged my eyes out with a “malfunctioning” pen. Doc got me all fixed up, though. I got some new eyes, from anonymous donor Laura Mars, but since my insurance wouldn’t cover “affronts to God,” I had to exchange my imagination for them.
My guess is:
A courtyard with a “boy and a pitcher” fountain that has not worked in many years.
A red door?
No, there’s another green door, turns out.
I believe it is the door of perception in which Morrison spoke so highly. However it comes at the end of our life.
Behind that door for some will lay eternal damnation; a torturous pit of vile and sticky things, seething and swarming all over your lacerated and lesioned skin.
For others it will be eternal paradise; a utopia of every Corona commercial ever made. It will be bohemian!! It will be rhapsody. Beaches made up of fine crystallized gold and silver. The clearest, cleanest warm water filled with perfect surf on one side and serene calm on the other. The trees will grow all of your favorite foods and the ground will sprout all of your favorite books.
Whatever you believe is behind the door will be waiting for you on the other side!
I suspect Marilyn Chambers is buried here.
This “field” you are always running off to. Just how fu**ing big is it? I mean isn’t a field a relatively small area? Yet, someone, you are endlessly in it. What are you really doing?
Good point, TL….Mr. YnB works out in the field, but he manages come home every evening.
I am outstanding in my field.
wouldn’t attempt to top YnB and Al !
but, I see a cool oasis of a garden, with water trickling in some hidden corner. There are several lush lounging chairs/beds and a table set with ripe fruits and cheeses and several bottles of chilled wine.
Tada…that’s it df.
I’m guessing it’s Monty Hall…riding a goat.
I eagerly await your return, FJ.
Until then, I will keep myself busy by periodically checking in on our sandwich-eating, smoke-dragging, lady-oggling friends with the you know whats, you know where…
Clapping… good story! I think maybe, just maybe Jimmy Hoffa is behind the green door??! I have been wrong before but NOT this time!
Oh my goodness! I missed an entire story about me and zombies!! Good stuff, friends.
Scott, I can’t believe I beat CLT here to tell you that The Doors of Perception is an Aldous Huxley book. Ol’ Jimbo was a big fat copy cat. At least, he was fat at the end. Or am I thinking of Elvis?
Anyhoo, there’s some kind of symbolic woo behind that aqua colored door, for sure. That there is the door to my spa getaway, my massage therapist, my yogi – all the peace and love in one place. Only in California, my brother. Only in California.
Thanks BKT- I actually knew that at one point. I used to be a huge fan of his life. It seemed like a cool way to go out. Then, when I lived past 17, I was like, oh, nevermind. Anyway, I just thought he would make the better reference!
And also, what a bitch that BKT is when she’s tired and drinking wine too late at night! Sorry. I’ll try to rein it in.
Monty Hall !
Tell her what she’s won Johnny.
A newwwwwwwwwwww, refrigerator from GE !!!!!!!!
I think it’s one of those incredible finds one makes in a new town. It’s the door to a world class Mexican Restaurant whose specialty is yak cheese quesadillas and enchiladas. The world beats a path to their unadorned entrance. The most interesting man in the world is often found there — enjoying their famous yad sweat margaritas.
Behind the door sits 200 young Chinese children, painting feverishly – some are painting cobble streets, others golden meadows, and every house of some sort. Could be a log home, or a quaint cottage. Never a trailer or a spec house. Too close to reality for the mass. The only English the children know is ‘Painter of Light’. Suddenly, the door opens and in he walks, surveying the work and readying his diamond encrusted Sharpie to sign his name, as if the “light” from his insignia illuminates the paintings. He does this in such a flurry that some of the children don’t even stop their painting, as if the man is ghost gone unnoticed.
And somewhere, behind another door many miles away, FJ sits, planning for the ultimate battle of good vs. evil. Oh yes there will be a day of reckoning…
Bwehahahaha. You are mine THOMAS!!!
Wile E. Coyote, super genius.
Haha G, there’s a thousand foot cliff on the other side.
Frida- half hidden by a canvas in her balcony. Feverish strokes of paint, punctuated with hand poised mid air. As if, conducting a symphony.
Soft music floating through the courtyard, but words not discernible.
Who cares? She doesn’t seem to hear any.
A self portrait, perhaps? Concludes the Observer.
That bright yellow dress and those dark eyebrows knitted together…And just then, she seems to look over the canvas, a fleeting glance, at those embittered heavy doors.
In a moment, she is beginning to dissolve into wisps…flying through the courtyard, squeezing out…from the tiny cracks in the big door.
“Stop! No, this is not a dream! That door!” cries the Observer.
But that song…it is playing louder now…’Volver’. And he stops, calmly, to listen.
Wow Juicer, you go girl.
A vast, many-tentacled hydra with fiery breath and a stare that turns onlookers to stone. Again. Despite the restraining order.
Yep, its my mom…tada.