TALES TOLD ‘ROUND CELESTIAL CAMPFIRES

Tales Told 'Round Celestial Campfires by Joseph CarrabisFor those of you who either didn’t know or forgot, I use to write fiction. According to my editors and readers, I was quite good at it.

Your writing is very moving. Tears came to my eyes when I read the last page of Dancers.

You have such wonderful imagery!

WOW! What beauty! I was completely hooked before I finished the first story.

You take readers on such wonderful journeys and your writing contains such wonderful lessons.

These stories have the flavor of an old sea tale, or something told around a campfire late at night. You have a wonderful distinctive voice.


After 20 years, I’ve decided to get back in the game. My first work of published fiction is Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires and you should all go purchase copies for yourself, everyone you care about, people you know intimately or just in passing, especially those you’ve either linked to or friended and have basically forgotten exist. Sharing your sense of wonder over Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires is a phenomenal way to get back in touch. Imagine the joy you’ll spread when you reach out to all those relationships both remembered and forgotten with “I’ve just heard about this amazing book, Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires, and it’s a must read!”

Your writing has a tenderness most men can’t master.

Wow! Terrific! Beautiful storytelling!

Your stories show the power of love.

Extremely powerful storytelling!

Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires contains fourteen stories. Most are love stories. Not romances, just love. Love in the form of acceptance. Acceptance of yourself, of others, of situations. Self-awareness is also a big theme with me. Even when self-awareness is painful or catches one unawares.

I love the way the reader gradually realizes what it is with your stories, and I love what it is.

I loved the feel, the tone of your writing – it is very sensitive, ethereal.

You’re a writer of genuine feeling.

Wonderful, entertaining and teaching. Amazing!

I really get the sense that I’m sitting down, listening to a storyteller weave the pattern of a story. That’s really neat. It’s a real pleasure to read your stories just for the beauty of the words.

Here are the first pages from four of the stories to give you an idea:

Dancers in the Eye of Chronos

Dancers in the Eye of ChronosHyphi and Gal parade onto the great hall’s floor, he half a pace ahead, she half a pace behind, their legs moving like a cat’s caught in headlights while their torsos remain straight and even. They pass the crowd among applause and hurrahs then pass the judges. Eyes focus on their clothes as well as their steps and the DJ looks to the judges for his cue. In mid-stride, the great hall rumbles as the DJ’s turntables engage.

Hyphi and Gal rumba. Gal wears a tasteful nuevo-Italian suit. Triple pleated frost brown pants with matching European cut jacket – no vent – brightly mottled red-and-yellow-on-black wide tie with double Windsor knot, ballooned creme shirt, pocketless, white gold with diamond eye studs, brown rattaned alligator Freeds – no Capezios here – frost brown silks, slightly darker than the pants and lighter than the shoes, easing the transition from one to the other. Tall. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs like tapered pillars and arms strongly anguine like boas, his hands and fingers long and graceful. His hair is salt&pepper, the salt like snow and the pepper like star studded night. His eyes are cyan iris against white orb like the sky seen through a cloud at sixty thousand feet. His skin is olive smooth, colored by a heredity so obvious it can’t be placed.

Hyphi’s head comes to just under his chin. Perfect for slow dancing. Perfect for sow dancing. Pale blue, three-ringed ruffle waisted skirt, line-thin lime green hip hugger belt, tight bodiced lime green blouse, ribbed and expanding beneath the breasts, showing the shoulders, white gold Bubo with emerald diamond eyes and hematite beak, tiny, clutching her throat on a slivered black band, finely silked scarf hinting at slipping from her softly muscled shoulders, pale earth tones of calmly pale earth scenes, dryads and naiads hiding and peeking as the scarf folds and unfolds to her dance, unnaturally natural blonde hair, eyes like his and skin the same, slightly lighter, yet the same. He smells of oceans and she smells of mists.

Those Wings Which Tire, They Have Upheld Me

Those Wings Which Tire, They Have Upheld MeCowan was walking in the woods the first time he saw Angel. He was really looking for a haunted house the real estate lady told his parents was back there and he’d walked further into the woods than he’d ever gone before.

There was an inch of snow on the ground except where the sun came through the trees for most of the day. In those places the ground was muddy. Cowan felt the crisping of the snow under his boot and looked at his footprints, trying to remember what they really looked like when he could really see them.

He took off the wrap-around sunglasses he wore to hide the holes where his eyes had been, thinking maybe the sunglasses stopped what he used to see from getting through. He still smelled the woodiness of the trees, still felt the cool air on his face and his breath misting as he exhaled. His breath didn’t look right, though. That was because of the Cap.

Dr. Hargitay said the Cap was best at least until they were sure the cancer didn’t come back. After that, Dr. Hargitay told Cowan’s parents, maybe they could transplant.

But until then it was the Cap. Cowan felt funny wearing the Cap. It itched.

Cowan’s family moved closer to the hospital that previous winter. Mom and Dad wanted to be with him more and this was the only way to do it. Cowan knew there were lots of other kids whose parents had moved closer to the hospital, but few of those kids ever came out.

He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

When Cowan showed up in his new school after Spring vacation, Kevin, who wasn’t even in his class and had stayed back twice, followed Cowan all over the playground, just walking behind him and sing-songing “I can’t See, I can’t See” until Cowan ran back into the school. Ms. Flanders heard him in the boysroom and sent in Mr. Horly, the janitor, to see if everything was okay.

Canis Major

Canis MajorIggie dropped from the tree onto the fawn, his weight breaking its two hind legs. It tried to run anyway but its forelegs only clawed up the moist, dark forest floor, clouding Iggie’s thoughts as the rich earth aroma wafted into him. Iggie didn’t want the animal to suffer and bit into its throat, tearing out esophagus, jugular and various muscles. Still the fawn tried to escape. Iggie grew nauseous by the mix of his needs and the fawn’s attempts to break free. This wasn’t what he wanted. His father had told and taught him to make his kills quick and clean, to spare creatures any pain. Iggie curled one forepaw into a fist and punched through the fawn’s ribs, crushing the heart. The fawn stopped moving and Iggie, gazing up at the dark, star filled sky, let the blood trickle down his muzzle, dribble into his nostrils, and cover his fur from flews to belly as he dined.

TALL, HANDSOME, good build, good humor, able to stand on a rocking ship with my hands at my sides. Brown hair, brown eyes, black beard, white skin. Have been mistaken for a brown bear when I bathe in mountain streams, well educated (past 6th grade), still have all my teeth but not all my marbles. Looking for a well-rounded, buxom woman. Buxom men need not respond. Applicants should know by this that brains are more important than brawn. Dinners, dancing, demitasse, and dramamine. Send resume and salary history.

The ad sat on Iggie’s desk for two months. The first month he’d written it by hand and crossed out several portions. The second month he’d typed it into his computer, made several more edits, and returned to the forest.

He stared at the screen for some twenty minutes this time, ran the spelling checker over it four times, read the ad backwards to check for additional misspellings, and printed it out.

Winter Winds

Winter WindsIt occurred to me, as I sat watching, that the scene was not as it should be. The winds played oddly on the landscape, and even the patterns of the falling snow were different. However, it wasn’t until I turned off the floodlights, which are white, and turned on the ground lights, which are pink, that the entire scene was revealed to me.

You must remember that this was a very typical wintry night. The snow was falling in one of the worst – or best, according to my son – blizzards of the decade. But it was one of the heaviest snowfalls in the century, according to the weather service.

Anyway, my son and I stood by the glass doors that led to the backyard patio. we were watching the snow fall. He and I talked about skiing and sledding and tobogganing – I from memory and he from anticipation. As we talked, he pointed to something out in the field. We looked, but I couldn’t see anything. He wasn’t sure that he had seen anything, either, so we went back to a discussion of which broom to use to sweep off the pond.

We fell silent then, the late-night stillness of the house being interrupted only by the slurps of hot cider. We had pulled my big lounge chair around so that we could be comfortable. Suddenly David leapt to his feet and pointed out to the field. “Dad! Dad, look! What is that?”

His excitement startled me, and I jumped up from the lounge chair, nearly spilling my hot cider. I rubbed my eyes and looked. Then I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Something was moving out there on the field. Something…

“What is it, Dad?”

My first reaction was to take off my glasses and clean them. When I put them back on I saw the same basic picture. Only now the form – whatever it was – had moved farther across the field. “I’m not sure, Dave.” That was an understatement.


So please take a few moments to a) go get a copy of the book or Dancers in the Eye of Chronos and Those Wings Which Tire, They Have Upheld Me and b) tell all your friends about them. Link to this page, to my Amazon page, put it on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Youtube and all the other social networks you’re on.

It’s appreciated.

Thanks.

Find me on Find Joseph on Amazon and Find Joseph on Goodreads (and write good things!).


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Have you met Eris? You might have known her as Xena

A) I’m not talking about the Warrior Princess getting a makeover and B) just something I found interesting, another swipe at the mythologies I grew up with.

Quick like a bunny, How many planets are there? Eight? Nine? Ten? Bigger than a breadbox?

I think and am not sure that there are eight planets. Pluto, an old and cold (but not cold-hearted) friend I grew up with has officially been dwarf-planeted. No longer a planet but neither an also-ran, Pluto is too small to be an official “planet”. Once again, humanic egotism decides the rules of the cosmos.

Eris (also known as Xena) and her moon, Dysnomia (also known as Dysnomia)

And not only is Pluto no longer a planet, Pluto is not even the largest dwarf-planet. That honor goes to Eris, a dwarf-planet known as “Xena” to her friends, shown here with her moon, Dysnomia, also known as Dysnomia to her friends. Eris-Xena is 27% more massive than Pluto. Not sure where to go with that one. Does he need to beef up or does she need to go on a diet?

And how does this tie into the myths of childhood?

Jupiter, comin' at cha

Does anybody remember when Jupiter’s Great Red Spot of Jupiter was whacked by Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9? I remember an NPR talk show (I think it was years after the fact) dealing with it and possible Armageddon (of course. I wonder if the Jovians were concerned?). I remember my earliest science readings (probably in Reader’s Digest) about the Great Red Spot; it was bigger than earth, you know.

Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 whacks Jupiter

Forget the ripples this created in the Jovian atmosphere. Forget that we (Earth) could be next and here was an example of just how devastating such impacts could be.

Such things are abstract in the extreme to most people walking the planet. The human mind really can’t understand these things except at a superficial level. We’re still pretty much stuck with a “Find food. Stay warm. Reproduce” wiring.

But in that wiring are things we decide have permanence. One of the ways this concept of permanence makes itself known is in the catchphrases “It’s not rocket science” and “It’s not brain surgery”. We as a culture have decided these are difficult tasks and have elevated them to “permanent-difficult” status. These elevations can be extremely personal and private and can be thought of as personal myths.

For me, one of the things I elevated to permanent-trust status was that the planets were, well, the planets. One reason lots of people had a challenge with Pluto being demoted to dwarf-planet status is because that permanent-trust elevation was being violated.

So when The Great Red Spot got whacked? Ohh, c’est terrible! Thank goodness that when I wikipeded The Great Red Spot I learned it was still there. I think. This was Wikipedia, after all.

Links for this post:


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Ville de Quebec, Carnavale 2008, Seagull Guitars, Au Petit Chateau, TransCanada 20 in Whiteout Conditions, Le Frontenac, Gambrinus’ and meeting Stephane Hamel’s beautiful wife, Josie, Part 1: The Ride North

I took a few days off. Hard to tell, I know, and I did. Both needed and necessary. Susan and I went north to Ville de Quebec to take part in Carnavale 2008‘s opening festivities. It was a wonderful trip and that was, alas, far too short. Obviously so as I’m sitting here posting a blog entry about it rather than back up there enjoying it.

And pay attention, folks. This is going to be a ramble…

I did bring my laptop with me and opened it three times in three days. Total time in use was probably less than 5 minutes. My sister sent me her pasta sauce recipe, no messages from NextStage staff that things needed my attention and people are queuing up to purchase the research that MarketingSherpa wrote about in Exclusive Data: How to Design Your Newsletters – 5 New Action Charts (We expect to publish Designing an Email Newsletter for Maximum ROI on Friday, 8 Feb 08, and it will be available for US$375.00. Please email NextStage R&D if you’d like to be notified). Good, good and good.

I see that the blog Eric Peterson and I have started [[and is now dead, although we’re resurrecting it at The Analytics Ecology]], The Future of Web Analytics, is getting some traffic. Also good. I’m anxious about what I write there. My paradigm is so different from the other folks posting there. How do I tell Eric Peterson that a click is a click is a click and has nothing to do with attention in the psycho-cognitive sense? Forgive the Freudism and in this case a cigar is just a cigar. A click doesn’t really reveal much until you can determine why the click occurred, what was motivating it. I suppose I’m crafting my response there here. Was the click done in frustration? Curiosity? Was the individual’s expectation high that this click would get them where they wanted to go? Was the individual an individual or a group?

I guess I’m really wondering if people realize NextStage has been monitoring and reporting on things like attention, engagement and their kin since we started in 2001. And when I write “attention, engagement and their kin” I’m mean the definitions found in the literature, not something based on wishcasting (and thanks to WindKiller for the term).

The trip to Ville de Quebec had many purposes. Susan and I love to travel and don’t do it enough. We plan to do much more this year and who knows what will happen between now and the next time we get in the car. I hadn’t been to Quebec City in about twenty years and I could in my blood that it was time to return. We drove, as Susan and I still enjoy a long relaxing drive when we have the time.

This was a long relaxing drive and primarily because Susan and I don’t get rattled by too much anymore. We drove north from Nashua, NH, and crossed into Canada at the NH border. We had reasonably good weather for most of the trip thus far and it started snowing with a good blowing wind just as we crossed over. The border guard gave us some suggestions for alternative routes that made sense so we headed off in a direction we didn’t intend. This is what makes things adventurous.

The first change in direction took us past the Seagull guitar factory in La Patrie, Quebec. This might not mean much to you and it was a happy coincidence for me as I’m in the market for a new guitar. I had no idea they were so close. Yes, I can purchase Seagull guitars both here in Nashua, NH, and in Truro, NS, but seeing them made and hearing them played? Priceless.

We continued to follow roads unknown to us and went past Bishop’s University. Another happy coincidence as one of our associates, Sandy Law, was a grad student there and talks gloriously of it. His tales of it are so universally grand that I’ve considered contacting them to see if they’d be interested in my joining their faculty for a year or two.

That took us through Sherbrooke and onto Drummondville, then on TransCanada 20 up to Ville de Quebec et Levis.

Remember my mentioning asking the border guard for alternative routes north to Quebec City from the border? Two feet of snow and 35-40mph winds later, we arrived at Au Petite Chateau two hours later than anticipated. Thank goodness our hosts had espresso and cappuccino ready and waiting for us!

more to follow…


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KBar’s Findings: In Event of Moon Disaster

I’ll start by offering that I’ve spent most of today lying on the couch, napping. This is a rarity for me. I’m usually always doing something. I was able to relax so completely today because we spent most of last night around a bonfire on the edge of the woods with about twenty friends. We made a bucket of moose chili which was enjoyed by all (none left and it really was a bucket), we got to listen to some great music (thanks, Scott and Jen!), we watched satellites and mapped constellations and even saw some falling stars.

Late into the night there were only four of us around the waning coals and it was cold out there. We got to sharing the joyous stories of family members who’ve passed away this year. The NextStage family lost more than its share, I think, and last night was one of the first times we gathered and laughed rather than gathered and cried.

So today, receiving “In Event of Moon Disaster” from KBar, got me to think about the what-ifs and might-have-beens in our lives and our friends’ lives.

Life is what happens while you’re waiting for your plans to arrive, or something like that.


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The Complete “Who’s In Control?” Arc

Note: Another arc, this one eight posts long. Amazing, isn’t it?

Who’s In Control?

A friend told me he is in therapy because his life is out of control. Too many demands on his time. A cell phone and a pager and a PDA and children and a wife and a job and a …

I listened. I congratulated him on deciding this was a problem for him and seeking help. I didn’t want to tell him that his immediate solution to the problem — too many demands on his time — was to add another demand to his schedule — a regular therapy session.

People who work with me call me a workaholic. Another friend tole me last week that I’m always busy because I’m always doing something, always active. People have repeatedly either told me they’re amazed at what I’ve done in my life or asked how I could achieve what I have. Some of it is nature (my musical ability or lack thereof, for example) and some is nurture (a family and culture where solving problems and core elements of solutions was prized, a family of readers, homes full of music and song, a family and culture that taught by storytelling and process modeling).

There’s also the fact that I realized at a very early age I was different from my peers in ways I couldn’t explain. I’ve wondered, in retrospect, if this awareness I had has similarities to the young boy or girl realizing they’re gay.

Aside from the anatomical confusions that are part of adolescence, what are the external physical manifestations of what amount to completely functional yet decidedly differently neurologic structural adaptations to… what? Are the neurologic adaptations required to alter physiologic manifestations Nature’s way of testing a theory? Easy theory to test: are there more gay people per capita in the world now than elsewhen in recorded history?

If yes –> homosexuality is an adaptive model that is working for the here and now. If not –> then not.

The concept of adaptive modeling is a challenging one for many people. Especially those who don’t study how things evolve over time (my thinking? Everything evolves over time). Nature (like me, I guess) is always testing theories and providing solutions to problems. I’ve heard it said that the age of the dinosaurs was Nature testing whether big teeth and big muscles were the way to go and eventually decided no, they weren’t.

Who’s In Control? (part 2)

We left off wondering if big teeth and big muscles was an experiment that failed. Here we pick up with how Nature really tests theories…

Well, close and no cigar. Nature found a solution that worked in the environment of the time. As things changed, old solutions didn’t solve the new problems (something I’m hoping to communicate in my comments on Starting the discussion: Attention, Engagement, Authority, Influence, …, but that’s another blog entirely and literally) so come up with some new solutions. Right now it seems Nature is testing to learn if big brains (comparatively speaking) are an adequate solution to the current problems.

My guess (in this anyway) is that the cure is worse than the disease. Big brains seem to causing more problems than they solve (see The World Without Us for a good read on this subject). And big brains’ current run is something less than a million years. Dinosaurs had several million, at least two orders of magnitude the run of big brains.

So maybe, just as big teeth and big muscles evolved to insure a good, long run, so shall big brains.

Who’s In Control? (part 3)

Here we question if homosexuality is another one of Nature’s experiments.

So if homosexuality is a test on Nature’s part, so be it. I’ve mentioned a childhood acquaintance, Andy, before. One of my strongest memories of Andy involved a third child whom I’ll call “Robert”. Andy never played with Robert because, when Robert played house with little girls, Robert often offered to be the “wife”.

I still remember, when Andy told me of Robert’s role-reversal play, how Andy wrinkled his nose, how his lips and face tightened, how his body tensed. I realize now he was merely demonstrating something he learned from his family, didn’t realize it then (it was only third grade). The message was quite clear — Robert was diseased, somehow wrong and wrong in an incredibly terrifying way because, while Peter, another friend, had an obviously club foot, Robert had no outward signs of his deformity. You couldn’t be sure by looking if someone else was wrong the way Robert was wrong.

Oh my! Scary Scary!

Who’s In Control? (part 4)

Here we deal with some of childhood’s mysteries. Just as Robert’s tendencies weren’t obvious in the way Peter’s club foot was obvious, so my tendencies, my “wrongness”, wasn’t obvious to those I played with.

My grandmother Sadie, when I was two or three or so, use to call me her Little Professor (another very involved post dealing with obvious evidence that remains unseen) because I seemed to study every thing around me. Grandma Sadie rejoiced in my wrongness but Andy, when he shared Robert’s wrongness with me and I replied, “So?” because men did a lot of the cooking in my family and performed other “traditional female” chores (I still do my share of the cooking, do the laundry, vacuum, …) turned that same look of fear, disgust and repulsion on me. The unspoken “Oh, God! Not you, too!” was as wounding then as the pod person’s signaling of “Other! Alien! Stranger! Intruder!” in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Andy’s mother spent a lot of time on the phone with my parents attempting to understand me or have my parents get me the help I needed to be a normal child. She was a very sweet albeit extremely prejudiced woman. I wonder if Andy ever grew beyond her lessons. For that matter, I wonder if I have.

I’ve written before that I now make a living out of thinking differently. My different neurologic wiring, whether an evolutionary adaptation, a simple sport, a stray gamma ray or not, is something I’ve managed to turn to profit. I can only hope Robert has done the same. In life.

Who’s In Control? (part 5)

Here we discuss finding teachers who honor differences rather than attempt to beat them out of you (with apologies to Indian Schools, Catholic schools and all the other educational institutions that are stereotyped correctly or incorrectly as not dealing well with differences in the student body).

Part of recognizing you’re different is deciding if you will foster those differences or not. In my case it meant either finding or being offered teachers who could help me decide if I wanted to foster my differences or not.

That is an important point. Not “teachers who could foster my differences” but “teachers who could help me decide if that’s what I wanted”.

Disciplining the mind is (technically) no different than disciplining the body. There’s the Nature v Nurture limitations again and that’s about all. True teachers know the student’s limits as well as their own. If there’s any difference between mind and body it’s that muscles grow and tighten as discipline’s applied. The mind? Does the skull reform as more training’s applied? Do we grow a sixth finger as knowledge grows?

I sometimes wish it were so. Instead disciplines of the mind — often closely tied to disciplines of the body — manifest themselves in the looks given when the obvious is to others not so, when order leaps from where others can only see chaos.

Who’s In Control? (part 6)

Here we explore one of the things I was taught early in my studies; Every weakness is a strength, every strength is a weakness (one of the early people who worked with NextStage couldn’t understand this. Their tenure was unfortunately short).

The most I could ever benchpress was 350# ten times and that was years ago. I have talked and laughed and trained with people who could benchpress me, the bench, that weight and a hundred pounds more all day without breaking a sweat. I’ve also met, studied and worked with people whose intellectual capabilities make me seem a driveling fool. I don’t know who I pity or envy more.

But weaknesses are strengths just as strengths are weaknesses (remind me to tell you about moving safes sometime).

A problem, once solved, bores me — great for research, lousy for productization (and Susan, the truly intelligent one in the family, suggested a reframe of this such that it’s also great for productization. I always tell people she’s the really smart one. Wish they’d believe me). A question, unanswered, requires research — It was suggested I check [[(a now defunct)]] blog twice a day and post to it. Post what? It takes me two weeks of study before I begin to understand the questions being asked. Coauthoring a blog has given me the opportunity to analyze the thought processes of others personally, sans the objective distance the NextStage Toolkits provide me. I’ve learned why people are sometimes impressed at my ability to focus and other times accuse me of not appreciating a situation’s complexity.

Who’s In Control? (part 7)

This section begins the round up and offers some solutions for my friend who’s confession got me started on this arc.

So how do I, with all my physical and mental training, help my demand enshrouded friend?

  1. Put yourself first in your life. Until you know how much space you take up there’s no room for anyone else.
  2. Work towards Joy. (ask a semanticist or a linguist to explain the humor in that one)
  3. Understand that you can’t recognize joy unless you’ve experienced sorrow.
  4. Recognize that you can’t choose everything that happens to you and that you can choose how you respond to it.

Less euphemistically?

Who’s In Control? (finale)

We conclude with some expansions of what was offered yesterday in part 7.

  1. Make yourself the most important demand in your life. Are emails a time suck? Don’t get them for a day. People will call if they need you. The phone ringing too much? Shut it off. People will knock on your door if it’s important. Too many people knocking? Take a day and tell no one where you go. Are you too important? Then you’re not. Not to yourself. Until you’re important to yourself you’re not important to anybody else, you’re a crutch.
  2. It really is that simple. No, really, it is. Is it not that simple? Do I not understand? Back at you. It is that simple and it’s you that doesn’t understand the true, real nature of the problem. Solutions are obvious. They always are. You just need to look in the right place to find them. Finding solutions isn’t the challenge, it’s knowing where to find them that is. Learn how to do that and you’ve learned it all. Take a lesson from the US Naval Academy. Take time to learn what’s important and focus on it.
  3. Make a list and keep to it. Realize there are only so many hours in a day and fill your list accordingly. Get a lot of items? Then you’ve made a two-day or week long list. Add to or reorganize your list only for items 1 and 2 above and in that order.

There you have it: Carrabis’ 3 Laws of Humans. Consider them Asimov’s 3 Laws of Robotics for those of us who don’t want to be robots.

And now my hand tires from all this writing. I compose on paper, review, rewrite and edit on paper before I type it into the computer and post it online. Not always. Only the important ones.

And the solution? Quite simple. Time to stop.


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