Some people would consider Daisy fleabane a weed, since it tends to pop up uninvited in unexpected places.
But I’m a big defender of many so-called weeds, including fleabane, which is a member of the aster family and a favorite of native bees and small insects. It’s tough, easy to grow, and I think its dainty white-and-yellow flowers are pretty.
It’s a better sight on the summer landscape than some tropical plant that subsists on hose water and chemicals.
Everyone thinks Jupiter is so great, and yeah, he’s full of generosity, but he can be kinda blustery, too. He certainly makes a big deal out of things, but sometimes it’s just hot air.
Venus is pleasant, I guess, but that’s about all I can say of her—In truth, I find her a little weak.
The Sun is bright and independent, and I enjoy his company immensely. As he told me years ago, though, “We come when we like.” No use chasing after royalty.
The Moon and I are practically inseparable, although I hesitate to admit it: Up and down I go with her like the tides, passing through a different phase every night—or each hour, more like it.
Neptune is too weird and aloof for me to fathom: He’s just there, drifting along in the ether.
Mercury is my good friend: Quick, sharp, and incisive. Uranus, on the other hand, knocks me out in a single jolt, but always keeps things spicy.
Pluto is my homeboy: dark, stealthy, forever destroying and evolving. I just let him do his thing.
Mars and I are tight: I like his unique and feisty spirit, and he’s always had my back.
Saturn is the one that gets the most undeserved hate. Why so many fear him is beyond me.
He’s strict but kind, relenting but never destructive. He demands good work and wants it delivered, but he’s not a perfectionist either.
If you’re lazy, I suppose, you won’t get very far with him, but if you put in the work, he’ll revel with you in your accomplishment.
Each of them I admire in different ways, but let it be known that this man will forever be Saturn’s child.
History may well remember it as the most arrogant and self-absorbed nation on earth—
A swarm of infantile ogres, decadent to the core and devoid of conscience or character,
Who pillaged and raped the land and murdered its inhabitants in their lust for wealth, power, and other illusions of their own manufacture.
Gasping for breath beneath piles of meaningless shit, they proclaimed their superiority,
Slathered like corn syrup with an insufferable self-righteousness that they convinced themselves was the very essence of God.
In fact, they knew nothing of the Divine and, in due course, revealed themselves to be the very demons they screamed so loudly of
Wagging their fingers at the world like toddlers on a playground, unaware that no one was listening to them.
Having grown lazy from cheap comfort and easy hate, their addictions rendered them dull, passive, and disengaged.
And when hardship finally came to them—as it does to all people—they were caught unaware, then collapsed under the weight of their own stupidity.
No longer did the world believe their lies or indulge them in their childish fantasies:
They were left to deal with their darkness, alone—
Forced by their own poor choices to evolve or wither, as so many have before them.
They may be nothing but a blip.
This postcard depicts Candler Hall at the University of Georgia in Athens, designed by G.L. Norrman and completed in 1902.
The front of the card is dated October 7, 1907, and includes the note: “I room with Mary Lucy STANSELL of Conyers, a fine girl I tell you.”
Published by The McGregor Company of Athens, the card was postmarked as “Normal School” on November 11, 1907, and addressed to Miss Lennie Ware of Winder, Georgia.
Lucy wrote on the back:
‘I saw “Cousin Dick” this A.M. Also “Cousin Will.”
My dear Lennie: –
I received your card yesterday
I was more than glad to hear from you once again.
I met “Icie” this A.M. I like her so much. I am sorry I haven’t known her sooner.
Lennie, you write to me please. I wrote you aways in the summer but you have never answered it. Dear do come to see me real soon. I am crazy to see you. Write soon. With love, Lucy.’
Lucy dear, get the hint: Lennie finds you annoying. You sound needy as hell. And what exactly are you doing with that “Cousin Dick”?
This postcard depicts the Fleming duBignon Residence in Atlanta, designed by W.F. Denny and completed in 1902.
As noted on the front, the home was located at 925 Peachtree Street, and the photograph was “Taken on Xmas day 1907”.
The card was postmarked in Atlanta on March 2, 1909, and addressed to Miss Cynthia Farie at 202 East 31st Street in Savannah, Georgia, with the following message written on the back:
“I thought you would like a picture of Grandfather’s house. I want to thank you for the pretty valentine. Lots of love from Tissie.”
You think the grandfather knew his house had an exact duplicate in Louisville, Georgia?
This postcard depicts the Kingston Passenger Station in Kingston, New York, completed in 1883.
Between 1875 and 1880, Kingston was the home of W.W. Goodrich, a terrible architect and bullshitter extraordinaire who later practiced in Atlanta.
Goodrich had nothing to do with the design of this Queen Anne-style depot, but you’ll be seeing more about Northern train stations here at some point in the future—and Goodrich (blech).
BIF wrote on the front of the postcard: “Here is where I got off train.”
It’d be more fun if he’d omitted the last word.
The card was postmarked in Poughkeepsie, New York, date unreadable, and addressed to Miss E. Crosby of RFD #2, Chester, Vt.
