Hey Moe, I think. . .

abe: Hey Moe, I think I saw a ghost.
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moe: Are you sure? The moon is full and visions come so much easier with the tug and pull of the lunar tide. We are after all 97% water.
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abe: Yes, of course I'm sure. It was a ghost. Don't you believe me?
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moe: Well, if I said I believe in God are you going to believe It exists? Does my belief in what you say validate the existance of the ghost? Or does my pedantic line of questioning motivate you to visualize me as a ghost as you stand there wringing your hands? Wait, don't answer that! I just felt a pang of self preservation.
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Of course I believe you Abe. Did it have any feet?
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abe: How else would I believe in God? Do you think I'm smart enough to come up with something like God on my own? Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it makes me lose a little confidence in your intelligence.
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How do we know anything exists other than through belief? I look at my hand and believe my eyes. I hear this voice in my head and I believe I think. These beliefs get repeated enough and I trust enough to think I know.
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I don't know if the ghost had any feet because it was invisible.
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moe: Well your lessening confidence in my intelligence increases mine in yours. And if you repeat that enough times you'll become the intellectual giant I believe you to be.
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Now back to this invisible ghost that you claim you saw. I find that hard to believe. If it is invisible, how could you see it? Or perhaps a question more germane to your life: how much of that fermented goat's milk did you drink before you saw the ghost?
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abe: Hey, don't knock the goat's milk, Chimpy. That's one of the few means I have anymore of still seeing what everybody else says they see. Getting blind drunk is the only way I can see what the blind are going on about. But, nope, I wasn't on no special sauce when I saw the ghost, except that this blood of mine seems to increase in proof as time goes on.
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Naw, I was just mindin' my business and the ghost appeared. I could see it as plain as day, but of course it was invisible. It didn't speak, but then I can't say I trust my ears after all those years in those bands in the desert. I still can only hear stuff that makes sound. The eyes though, they've been able to see beyond the light spectrum since that day witn the knife and little Isaac.

Post Your COMMENTS here!! please.

Moe & Abe invite you to make your comments, if any, here rather than the usual comments section after each post. The postings by Moe & Abe are on-going and any misplaced comments by a reader may disturb the fragile geist which exists within each creative offing. Thank you for your understanding and co-operation.
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PS. Don't forget to wash your hands when you're done.

You know abe, I've been thinking...

Moe: You know abe, I've been thinking, should someone clean up this mess?
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Abe: The thing about cleanin' up any mess is this, you gotta be able to do it with real clean hands or else you end up just adding your filth to it. I've been workin' for decades on getting myself clean enough to just walk in the room with a real mess.
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Moe: Well I suppose that presents a conundrum of sorts. There's is always this sense of futility knowing that the mess cleaned up leaves another mess. But isn't that we do anyway? Just like breathing, one breath leads to another and another and another until we stop. Messes are things to clean up, the question is always who, clean hands or no. Look at November 2nd, isn't it a question of who has cleaner hands? Tough question considering that they both have spent time down at the abattoir.
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Abe: I'm not talking about making another mess, but rather making this mess worse, or even making a real mess from what wasn't a mess to begin with. Like you said, "Messes are things to clean up," but I'm not sure that what I do cleans. Assumptions assumptions assumptions. It's like story of the man who made the flowers prettier by painting them. The Greeks called that hubris. My pappy just called it, "Dumb-assedness."
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How do we define something as a "mess" in the first place? And, how do we know we can believe the definers? Boy, talk about November 2nd! It seems like right now we're all willing to climb down into the muck-pit those two bloody-boys have defined and been diggin' from the nice clean dirt. We fight to hang our butts out over the pit-lip, "dump" our respective shits down into it and then complain about the stench rising up. What a mess. SURPISE!!
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Excuse me while I take some time to clean my hands.
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Moe: Reminds me of "the Evil Empire" and how it rotted from within long before the Righteous West spent it into oblivion. Their "mess" was created by refusing to accept reality. The people writing reports had to gussy up what they said to their bosses or they risked of being airbrushed out of society. But reality is a lady who will not wait and when she comes to confront the lovers of myth "messes happen".
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Now fast forward to the New World Order and you see the same thing happening. All the societal estates have been subsumed by a self righteous myth which assumes an incorruptabilty that history says just not exist in the ministerings of man. There is no position one can take these days that doesn't assume a more superior and moral foundation. What you may regard as a stench rising up, others exault as a "sweet smelling savour" - a reward for their efforts.
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A mess? You're damned right. I'm just waiting for the media pap declaring with unbounded glee that the New & Improved® War to End All Wars™ is upon us. So, good luck washing your hands. Chances are you will not be able to get that stain off.

Hey, Moe, Did you hear the one. . . ?

abe: Hey, Moe, Did you hear the one about the king?
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moe: Did that one involve poultry, war, and a Middle Eastern deity?
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abe: No, I think the one you're thinking about involves absolutely everything; but yes, I guess, then it would involve the one about the king--and involve poultry, war, and a Middle Eastern deity, to boot. Wouldn't it?
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moe: Yeah, yer right. So... which king is it? The dreamy one, the one in boxer shorts, or the one with a dependancy problem? If I knew what "the king" yer ask'n about, I could answer ya or na. Unless yer talk'n about "The King" ...
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abe: Wow, now you've got me so confused I can't remember which king is the king in the one about the king. With all these kings, where do we turn to know? With thrones shining down from so many places on high, how do I know which way to prostrate?
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moe: Why would you wanna do that? You were gonna crack a king joke just a second ago and now yer running 'round looking fer a direction to lo' yerse'f. You remind me of my dog, Merle, chasing his tail. And that reminds me of a joke: What did the king say to the Grim Reaper?
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abe: "Well now once my conscience left me, I found a hot place to dwell. It's down at the end of all my lies--The Gates of Hell."
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moe: Hahaha! I just spit my coffee all over the place. [Sorry Honey! Can you wipe off the kids?]. It took a few sips of java to get that one, but what an eruption when I did. Funny!
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Say have you recalled what you wanted to say about the king before I ventured on this detour?