‘Her bottom was much bigger than mine and she wore a blonde wig that was longer than my own hair. It was ridiculous and I was very upset.’
*I forgot Britt Eckland was married to Peter Sellers, Clicky… /lights up… Cade and me remote viewed… /smokes… a few of ‘is movies last week…*
*Really? Did he say ‘Going down the mine shaft later’?*
*Sooty! …/slaps forehead… THAT’S where I got the post title from. It’s been bugging the fuck out of me all afternoon. Cheers, Clicky…*
Jiggly, creamy...what's not to like?
How do you figure ants know when to return to base? They gotta have a time and/or distance limit of some kind, but ants are stupid little automatons of motorized instinct. That is of course unless “intelligence” is perhaps scalar. If it is, that could mean that ants, in relative terms, are potentially as smart as, or maybe even smarter, than humans. That’s not really what I was thinking about tho. What I was thinking about the universal lube which allows gears to turn at all. And when I mean “universal lube”, I am not talking about oil(s). Lemme splain…
A gallon (3.79 liters) of crude oil weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 7.21 pounds (3.27 kilos). There are 42 gallons (158.99 liters) in a barrel of oil, and…
The level of oil production is currently at an all-time high, with around 94.7 million barrels of oil produced daily in 2018. Feb 13, 2020
-Souce = Goolge (May 9th, 2020)
Using that number as a guide for an estimate of current production, and this being a leap year, that could mean that 34,660,200,000 barrels would be produced in a year. And yes, that’s 34 billion with a B.
34,660,200,000 barrels x 42 gallons per bbl = 1,455,728,400,000 gallons (231,446,258,316,000 liters)
With that in mind…
A: ???
I mean, we’re giving bacteria all kinds of room to stretch their legs. Is it really such a surprise that they are doing just that?
All that said, what is it which allows (and perhaps also limits) life’s ability to move. I’ve been hung up on magnetism for a long time, so I kinda wonder what role(s) our magnetosphere plays. Science says it’s too weak to have any measurable effects, but that explanation itself seems kinda weak. All kinds of stuff that we used to not be able to measure, nor even did we know it existed, but we do now.
Gates. Gated, non-gated. Prohibit, allow
With respect to magnetism tho’, there’s gonna be a lot of spin. An open position may in fact remain somewhat prohibitive depending on the direction of travel. If we’re talking gates, that means doorways, and the doorway or gate is unlikely to care which side making distinctions as to “in/out”. In effect, prohibitive from one direction will, potentially, be more facilitative from the opposite direction.
There are likely to be more neutral states as well. I can only wonder if a “closed” position may actually behave in similar fashion(s). For example, a “closed” gate within the magnetosphere may be “closed: subject to conditional” or “closed: not subject to conditional”. Meaning, at certain times, closed gates may only be conditionally closed, and certain gates may be unconditionally closed. Meet the conditions, and the gate can be passed even tho’ it is in the closed state. What is the act of traversing a doorway called anyway? Does this act have a name?
May not seem like it, but an ancillary something I’m thinking about here, is will. Is it possible that the will of someone might affect the magnetosphere in prohibitive ways? We appear to have a bead on the high-power weaponry, but the low-power stuff is in the pipeline.
May as well start thinking about it now
Express the oil, shower it with antibacterials.
Almost like squeezing the pus out of an infection under the skin
Is Earth sick?
Is that what's going on with Earth exploration?
Penetrating the skin.
Removing infection.
Sharing the wealth.
“Kin” is 3/4ths of “Skin”.
“In” is half.
Weird considering that halfway is as far as one can ever go in
Anything past halfway is out.
And, yeah, I guess “in” is 2/3rds of “kin”.
Things just got weird
Universal lube. A something which has multiple parts to it tho. Provides the ability to move, at the same time hinders movement, maybe provides some simultaneous directional and non-directional information, and keeps movement to within certain parameters.
Of course, you also need to take into consideration the motivation(s) within the moving object itself. Does a gate need to exist within a space if there is no need for transit? What’s really mind blowing about that thought is, that if there is no need for a gate, is there a need for anything within this space? Can’t think “wall” here either. A wall is nothing more than an impassible gate. Wait…wait…just a fucking minute here…
A: Bend the space around the space where you want to prohibit navigation/traffic
You’d have to bend the space in such a way that it could not be unbent, but what’s boggling my mind here is the idea of “solid space”. Imma have to ponder on this a bit.
!WAR N ING!
Some of the videos below likely qualify as “graphic”.
Some may potentially qualify as “graphics”.
You’ll figure it out…I have faith in you.
I wonder how long it takes to reach orgasm with a taser
Searching for the clit can land you in some pretty goddamn weird places
Um…um…like, I’d um….yeah. I like the clitoris, I like girls, I like pizza. I have notta fucking clue what the hell is going on below.
(pun may/may not be intended)
I AM HAVE THROB IN MA HEED
Not telling you which head is throbbing tho’…
…nor why it is throbbing.
If there is too much of you, have someone chop it off fer ya
I learned a new term today...”vag-talk”
Let it be known that hair is evil
There are some things in the world that I really just do not know how to feel about.
Even without razors and lotions and loofahs and such, shiny skin is a thing
That’s actually quite an interesting thought: the thought that understanding and/or acceptance of an illness can actually somewhat alter the diagnosis.
Compound the diagnosis
On the upside, this potentially opens up some new revenue streams of both the light and dark varieties.
I love you means goodbye
No one says “I Love You” at hello or when you arrive, it’s always when you leave. At the end of a phone conversation, at the end of an email or letter, before leaving for work, before going to bed, after sex…whenever two are going their separate ways, I love you is locked in there with goodbye. Almost a warning sometimes. It’s no fucking wonder I’ve always hated the “I Love You” protocol, just never could figure out why…until last night.
Was watching a film last night called Backbeat, and at one point in the film, The Beatles get tossed out of Hamburg because George is underage (although I don’t think they were called The Beatles at this point). So anyway, they’re getting deported, they’re being escorted onto a train, Stuart Sutcliffe’s German gal is there, and as the train starts to pull away, Stuart sticks his head out the window of the train and fires “I Love You” her way. Almost in a “you better fucking not forget me” kind of way.
EUREKA!!!
After all this time, I’ve never known why “I Love You” has always rubbed me the wrong way, but now I think I have a bit of insight. Sure, the “I Love You Too” is also a painful-assed statement to have to make when you just do not feel like saying it, but I think it’s clear to me now that “I Love You” is pretty much equal on some level to “goodbye”.
Goodbyes suck. They're so...forever
Wonder if it’s also maybe possible that ‘I Love You’ is a reward, which is why it comes with goodbye.
“You’ve pleased me, therefore I love you”
No wonder ‘I Love You’ never comes at the start. That’d be like…unconditional love or something, right?
/me scratches head
I didn’t love you then, I do love you now, goodbye.
Each day is, potentially, full of do-overs.
Till they get sick of your shit anyway.
Right...so...50 Page Plan, eh?
I wonder how many pages the plan was which facilitated the lockdown in the first place. No matter, your government will get you out of this mess, and into the next one, no sweat. On the bright side, this documentation will likely be reflective of what your government has learned from this experience. It may also be reflective of what they already knew, just…needed somewhere special to slip it in. Not trying to be dismal or negative or anything, just seems kinda like an odd way to exit a lockdown. It seems less like liberty and/or freedom, and more like…
parole
UFO videos are almost always cool. Of course that is assuming the video hasn’t been altered in any way.
Prolly important for any sky-watcher or ufologist to kinda be at least somewhat familiar with how certain types of known aircraft move. You don’t have to put a ridiculous amount of effort into it either. A modicum of effort will likely provide a shitload of insight. To relate, take me for example. When I took the practical portion of my test for my pilot’s license, I admit that loads of stuff still didn’t make sense to me. I honestly have no idea how I passed my practical test on the first try, but somehow I did. As I continued flying over the next coupla years, all that weird shit started to make more sense, and I sometimes wondered how in the fuck that stuff didn’t make sense before. It made so much sense now.
Just trying to say, stay at it.
Clarity will come at its own pace
Channels under the skin. Within the layers of epidermis itself. Almost like dried riverbeds. Aggregate of dried sweat, salt, oil(s), perhaps even skin that could not be discarded because it was caught up in the fold(s) and other aggregates.
Gotta consider outside aggregates as well. Dirt(s) and dust(s), soaps, soot, chemicals, lotion(s) and creme(s)…the potentials are mind-boggling. Loads and loads of tiny particles collecting over time within the skin, and going for the most part completely unnoticed. Perhaps even somewhat like micro-glaciers within the skin. Channeling and funneling downwards towards the legs, feet, arms, hands.
I can only wonder about the lines that form on the finger and toe nails, and maybe perhaps how not only the motion of the body can affect these, but also the aggregates themselves and how they affect how the skin moves, how this affects connective tissues as well as the underlying fluidic systems and also the musculature(s). When you start thinking more in terms of asymmetrical and less-symmetrical types of movement, and especially when thinking in terms of up/down and in/out, plus spherical and vortical motion(s) of the epidermis, the potentials are damn near infinite. Especially over time and as ergonomics of an individual change.
A patch of skin under the right knee previously may have moved primarily vertically up and down, but due to lifestyle changes, the skin now moves horizontally side-to side. Or perhaps the skin no longer moves at all due to ergonomic or even pathological reasons. A bit at a disadvantage because of some childhood injuries to my own hands/feet/fingers/toes, so my own case may be considerably different than someone else.
I’m sorry but I cannot think that there is a direct connection between the internal and external moisture concentrations which may contribute to, what equates to, basically foreign material which cannot be expunged by the body. We see a “blemish”, we treat the blemish, when the source of/the driving factors contributing to the blemish may be actually elsewhere. Callouses, dark patches, light patches, yellow patches, red patches, warts, moles, freckles, pimples, blackheads, symmetrical, asymmetrical…how do these things contribute to how the epidermis does/does not move?
Most mysterious of all, in my own case, are pores. Why sometimes elevated? Why sometimes concave/depressed? The only thing that I can figure is perhaps because of the pressures and tensions of the surrounding tissue(s).
/GettyImages-dv517016-5b3d423546e0fb005b62ccf4.jpg)
Fluids are strange. They do strange things under certain circumstances. Just saying that if you read the above, and even remotely understand what I’m chasing, you’ve gotta keep fluids and fluid dynamics in mind. Endocrine, lymphatic, circulatory, nervous, eccrine, respiratory, digestive, autonomic, vagus… We’ve got all kinds of I/O, interrupts, voluntary and involuntary nonsense to consider.
From farts and salivation to ejaculation and sweating to pissing and crying…
Lots of fluids maybe trying to go somewhere
Gotta keep those externals in mind as well. Prolly wanna pay some mind to prohibitive or maybe even reactionary types of things. From Chromium 6 and rubber particulate from automobile tires to pollen and various types of dirt and dust, ain’t much that can be ignored. Adhesives, wood product particulate, commercial dyes and textile particulate (like from clothing and such) are some good things to keep you aimed at oddities you might otherwise not consider.
Quick question quasi-along those same lines…
A: We bury it
Trash, garbage, waste(s) of all kinds…
we bury it
Someone someday is gonna come along someday and think they’ve stumbled onto a fucking goldmine.
Assuming there are any humans left that is
A: BRB...I get the feeling that only my children can answer this question
I’ll give the answer in a future whatever/missive.
Or you can just…find your own answers.
Whatever.
Lots of stuff that appears on your radar is going to be … erm … saturated. For example, a tweet starts the backwards nonsense stone to rolling.
You’ll need to keep an eye on the dates.
And even further back, pretty much the same shit in a different package.
But this is by no means “new news”. Lots of it is the same shit in a different wrapper.
When I saw that tweet today about Iraq War 2 and the Stargate, I was like…wait a fucking minute…this is AFN.
AFN = Ancient Fucking News
I remember hearing about this stargate shit WAY fucking back. Why in the hell is someone digging this shit back up???
There’s nothing new…
…it’s just new to you.
There are problems with your “oneness” model
LA Woman... … …El Lay Woah Man
I only made it to 3:34 into this next video before having to stop.
So let me get this straight…you developed a process/technology to profile antibodies, then patented it. You’ve gone back and applied your process to other’s work, determined their stuff was wrong, and then tried to get them to adjust their findings to be in line with yours. You now think that everyone should put their published findings into your single global database. Basically, you’re trying to get a monopoly on what is right and wrong with respect to antibodies, and you are the sole determiner as to what is right and what is wrong. But best of all, you and your group gets a piece of every action.
Ballsy
Getting a global monopoly on a mutative/mutable something would indeed be something grand to get your claws dug into. It virtually guarantees your business will stay in business, potentially anyway, forever. There is that pesky patent problem tho. She mentioned that the company was setup in 1997, but I have to wonder when the patent was actually issued. She mentions a company called “Protogen”, so let’s start there.
Hrm…not off to a very good start, although I admit reading that sounds very close to what Professor Cahill just described. Let’s modify our search a bit.
Alright wait, wait, wait…wait just a goddamn minute. I need to go back and read the subtitles on the video to see if she’s saying “Protogen”, or something else. Checked the description on the video, but not a single mention of Cahill’s company nor any links to any of Cahill’s stuff. Just a bunch of e-begging for the host and his stuff. And the captions for the video look like they may not help either because it’s saying “protege”? Maybe it’s Protegen instead of Protogen?
(unsecure link above...fyi...click/browse at your own risk)
I’m kinda thinking that maybe I need to just look up the name Dolores Cahill and work backwards from there. I hate doing that tho. Looking up people’s names on a search engine is pretty fucking creepy.
K so, instead of starting at a search engine, let’s see if we can find Dolores Cahill on Wikipedia first.
Hrm…no Wikipedia page for her, but her name does come up in a strange context. Especially considering that this party appears to have been founded in September of 2018, which is not long ago. Let’s keep digging in Wikipedia a bit more before moving on to Google.
She’s mentioned there at the bottom in footnote 9, which oddly has no link to a source. Going backwards, it looks like the article she was associated with has been retracted.
While two of Shoenfeld’s scientific articles have been retracted,[8][9] he has published more than 1920 papers.
This is kinda disconcerting for me. In the video, she’d mentioned autoimmune diseases which really made my ears perk up, and there’s mention of Rheumatology in footnote #9, which also has me further interested.
Hrm…she’s only listed as author in 1 paper?
Fuckit...GOO GHOUL TIME!
Well THAT’s not a good start. Looks like whatever she provided at that conference has been removed. In fact, that whole goddamn website appears to be down.
Weird
Those not real interested in Synchronicity might find this image beyond eccentric, but I paused the video at 11 seconds so I could copy the link to the video, and what appeared on that sign on the left was kinda…jarring.
FREED TO PR
Not to mention that 11:11 appears in the counter.
A: Maybe they don't like what “the big” is selling
Certain things which are representative of the whole, may in fact not be representative at all of the individual(s).
Don’t want to jump to any conclusions here, but is it possible she’s getting railroaded because of her politics? If she’s really been within those systems, she’s be in a good position to see how they work, and maybe even some insight into what they are up to long term. Maybe she didn’t like what she saw. Those are just speculations on my part tho. I’ve only known she even existed for about 30 minutes now. How much about her could I possibly know?
I will say this tho, the Max Planck Institute has a metric fuckton of institutes. The appear to have their fingers in…
pretty much everything
Painful bruising
Mary K Dick, eh? I wonder if she's related to Phil
A: ???
We generate all kinds of skin reactions based upon what our mind may be telling us how we personally feel about something. Goose-pimples, hair standing up, hot flashes, cold sweats, tingles, and even anticipatory types of things for certain events which may or may not happen. Like say, if I’m bent over the toilet, and I see my father’s arm start to move to swing a belt which is going to land somewhere between my knees and hips? I may feel some weird stuff in the skin of my upper-thighs, buttocks and lower back prior to the belt actually impacting and making contact with my flesh.
There has to be some anti-syncers out there. Not saying they are floaters, just, people who focus on sinking syncs. Discrediting, devaluing, disproving, debunking, whatthehellevering. They don’t get it, so they sink it.
A: ¿ ¿ ¿
I wonder if understanding the northern hemisphere from the southern hemisphere is the same thing as understanding the northern hemisphere from the northern hemisphere.
May be difficult to believe, but all this bullshit started with me waking up and seeing an ant crawling across my keyboard.
*Okay, Clicky… /exaggerated wink… Gotcha…*
*How was that, Clicky?*
*Oh, bugger off…*
*OMG, Clicky! Is it… Is it finally ready?*
*Yes! …/lights up and smokes… 80-fuckin’-pence? That’s an incredibly low price for some top quality entertainment, Clicky…*
*Or magick… /winks… Leggy mentions Aleister Crowley’s ‘Magick’ in the Foreword…*
*/drags… The book cover photo is one Leggy took at Loch Ness. Crowley once lived up there… /streams smoke… The place burnt down under mysterious circumstances last year…*
*Nah, pretty sure we’d know if Boleskine House had been hit by a meteorite, Clicky…*
*Oh, of course… /blushes… Yes, Mark Ellott’s story ‘The Meteorite’ can be read for free via Amazon’s ‘Look Inside’ function…
*A line from that song inspired his second story, ‘The Trade’, Clicky… /flicks ash… Wow, all Mark’s books are 99p for lockdown as well…*
*Hang on, I know this! Marsha Webb has a story called ‘Stripes’ in the anthology… /final drag… It takes time to understand you, Clicky, but I am getting there… /stubs butt…*
*This just in! …/sticks finger in ear… I see what you did there…*
*Oh tush… /pats snout… Praise Leggy – he’s the one giving all these writers a chance, and everybody else a chance to read them for very little outlay…*
*Yeah, his stories do seem to be taking a life on of their own, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*
*No, but I’m sure he’ll tell us why, Clicky…*
Sup Ladies? 😛
I broke two fasts, in as many days, and I’m ready for love.
FAST 1: Deodorant
Yes indeedy. I’ve broken an almost decade long fast on the personal ownership and self-application of deodorants and antiperspirants. Had to get out in public two days ago, I was sweating profusely, so I decided to go ahead and give each armpit a swashing of evil chemicals so as not to stink. Stinky people are dirty, and dirty people are gross, so yeah…I am no longer stinky, dirty nor gross. HOORAY!
FAST 2: Chairs
I just cleaned up my desk chair and sat in it for the first time since around August/September of 2019. Since it’s now May of 2020, that means that I have not sat in a chair for right around 8/9 months. Why would I intentionally not sit in a chair for a long period of time? Welp, why don’t you come over here, plop yourself down on my lap, and I’ll tell you all about it.
HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO
Not bullshitting you. I really have gone for almost 10 years without wearing deodorant nor antiperspirant.
My Lymphatic System goes right fucking by there, and I just don’t think it a good idea to be incessantly pouring chemicals down that well.
Changing the heating/cooling dynamics of my pits? There? Yeah, also doesn’t seem like the best of ideas. I get the feeling my body needs to be able to regulate its temperature without me throwing impassible roadblocks in its path.
I may be wrong
Some of you ladies carve that area up with a blade, and THEN slather that goop on.
/shudder
I stopped shaving because I got sick and tired of my face feeling so tight all the time. All that carving and micro-scarring has to do some serious damage over time. You also eventually develop this icky-looking yellow skin, and if you don’t get out in the sun much, you look like you’ve got these weird yellow patches all over your face. I assume this is a reason those on television or film have to put all that makeup on.
Hey…you wanna shave? Shave. I’ve no problem with it. I can say tho, that when I stopped using hygiene products, stopped showering daily, was more conservative about soap(s) usage, and stopped shaving/stopped using aftershaves and colognes? Some weird things started going on with my epidermis. Lots of of those Fibromyalgia types of pains have subsided, the Carpal Tunnel is better, my hands aren’t folding in on themselves, my feet, calves and shins cramp less, my skin doesn’t feel like it’s trying to tear all the time, and my skin no longer hurts to the touch. Not that anyone is touching me.
'cept me...har
And yes, I likely don’t smell like you think I should smell. But how am I supposed to smell? Like, I know what society thinks I should (or should not) smell like. But, what does my body think on the subject. Only one way to find out.
Yesterday was the 50 anniversary of Kent State.
A: ?!!!¿
Like, by today’s standards. You know…active shooter, complete lunatic, absolute evil, beyond help or hope, should either be murdered outright or thrown in jail forever, all that jazz.
When you die, you typically start to smell pretty bad.
Am I dead?
The dead have a smell. Dead things have a smell. Death? No. I don’t think “death” has a smell. I always hear people say “the smell of death”, but all that exists in such a scenario is the living + the dead. Death, is nowhere to be found. Just thinking that death prolly smells different for everyone. For some it smells like hospital chemicals, for others it may smell like the dashboard of a car, still others may smell gunpowder. And yes, I know what dead things smell like. A nauseating “sweet” smell, and nothing else smells like that. But death? I wonder if death itself is maybe an aggregate of varied smells. Or maybe death smells like nothing.
A: To you? Yeah, it's likely to matter what death smells like.
“Death” prolly smells quite a bit different smell than “the dead” tho.
Which…speaking of…supposedly with this nCoV-2019 Coronavirus thingie, your sense of smell is gone completely. I guess that would mean that death (for those who die from it) smells like…nothing?
What percentage of Internet users are scammers? It is the question that first greeted my brain as I woke this morning. Each day, what percentage of Internet users are accessing the Internet solely to utilize it as a pathway to take advantage of someone else for their own personal gain. It is a question I know I cannot answer. But I do wonder if this could be a measure of “the amount evil in the world”.
The type of entity doesn’t matter either. Loads of both “legal” and “illegal” scammers. Would prolly need to first determine which usages result in a monetary transaction, and of those further define which transactions involved a transfer or goods. Prolly be smart to take services into account as well. I know that I’m rambling here, but it occurs to me that governments appear to be positioning themselves to levy some taxes on both the Internet itself, as well as any and all transactions of any and all types.
Loads of countries seem to be re-isolating themselves, and the only reason to do that is tax revenues. The biggie in this being, that space itself is about to be domained. Yeah, outer-space. Space is gonna be annexed, and satellites are likely going to start requiring visas. Will be interesting to see how the motion(s) of the planet are taken into consideration. What was “your space” a few minutes ago may in fact belong to someone else now.
Very cool stuff going on here…
https://twitter.com/ZonePhysics/status/1255032469193207808
…but it raises a question.
A: ⁿ ó¿ó ⁿ
Life itself prolly has a few miles on it. Supposedly, it slogs from the not so great realms of pond-scum, to better, to worse, to better, to worse, etc.. Death is in there somewhere, and yet, here we are. I mean me? I pretty much just got here. But something got me here, there was a lot of life surrounding me when I got here, and it’s pretty safe to assume there will be a lot of life surrounding me when I leave. ‘Tis a weird thought to ponder tho…how old is life. How long, in the universal scheme, has life existed? Maybe you can chew on it a bit and come up with an answer.
Just keep in mind that carbon, and when it may/may not exist, is gonna be kinda important.
Speaking of carbon, me and a certain someone were watching something recently about energy, and they kept ranting about biofuels. Biofuels this, biofuels that, and all as if burning turkey fat or methanol or decaying plant matter or whatever is some new huge something because it falls under the catchphrase of “biofuel”. It occurred to me…
‘WTF is this “biofuel” nonsense?!? COAL IS BIOFUEL!!! PETROLEUM IS BIOFUEL!!! NATURAL GAS IS BIOFUEL. Coal is burnt trees, petroleum is decayed biomass, and natural gas is produced by decaying biomass. THAT’S WHY THEY ARE CALLED FOSSIL FUELS!!! What in the hell are they on about?’
Only thing I could come up with is that there is some shift to rebrand “fuels” so as to get people more comfortable with the hypocrisy of their insatiable appetites for electricity via “eating” dead stuff. And yeah, this is about electricity. No one calls it electricity anymore tho, it’s “energy”.
Have not been writing much. Plenty of people polluting the social spheres with their nutty conjectures and ya’ll don’t need me adding to the pile. It did occur to me a time or two that a lot of information being released seems quite…planned. But that’s a problem when you’ve got systems that are attempting to intentionally mislead you. Well, maybe not always mislead, but certainly test. You see one story here, another story there, you add the facts, 2 + 2 = 4, and…
BOOM! Mystery = SOLD! Next?
Think of it like this, when you are being educated/schooled by your betters…
A1: ?¿?
A2: ¿?¿
I figure it works pretty much the same way in politics, government, media, business, you name it. We are trained to think in certain ways, and that’s how we think. “They” put the numbers in front of you, and “you” have to figure out the correct answer(s). You get a cookie for finding the answer they want you to find. Or you suffer social humiliation for getting the wrong answer. You’re likely to be socially shunned for questioning the question or maybe disputing the answer. They, know. You, don’t. You want the answers, they have them, gotta play to play. And no, that’s not a typo.
Ya gotta grow up at some point. Stop relying so much on being told, and find your own feet. Hew your own path. Be wrong. Get bruised. Get scrapes. Get scars. Get lost. Be completely flummoxed by your own limitations and stupidity. Find your own way to…
better
That’s what we all want to do, methinks. Stretch our own selves out, and reel our own selves in. Acquire our own unique skill sets for handling/dealing with adversity according to our own unique situation. I dunno…
maybe I'm wrong
You think it possible that maybe when its apparent that all the carbon is gonna be gone from this planet, life will no longer be possible? Gotta be a curve there somewhere. Especially in the “reproductive life” schema. Immortality? Not so much. Grab what carbon you need in order to manifest your own existence, and done. But reproductive life? Gotta be some curves there as to whether reproductive lifeforms can both manifest and sustain that manifestation for a certain period in order to make the manifestation worthwhile. Carbon doesn’t exactly grow on trees you know.
Digress
What I’m thinking here is sheet music. The song of life goes on for as long as there are notes on the page to sustain the song. “The notes”, in this case, are the dits and dahs of Carbon. Or maybe like the holes in a piano roll for player pianos.
Everything becomes nonviable at some point. Maybe some of these die-offs and/or extinction events aren’t always due to some cataclysmic secondary something. Maybe something becomes unsustainable and dies off for no other reason than the species’ long-term survivability becomes an eventual impossibility along a specific timeline.
Things dying off for no apparent reason. Man, that would leave some damn deep rabbit holes for some to chase. They could likely even find the reason(s), and not even know it because they’re looking in the wrong place(s). What a cruel world this is. Or, can be.
/me shrugs
If you look at the above image kinda off-center? The center takes on some odd properties. Does for me anyway.
I cannot save the world. What I can do, is save worlds. Or at least, attempt to. When and if needed of course.
Ever seen those cycling ads? Like, advertisements which cycle. Scrolling screens at sports venues, segmented billboards, video billboards, electronic marquees, etc.. One minute a sign advertising hamburgers, the next minute an attorney’s office, then motor oil, then maybe a casino. Welp, I was watching this video below, and at the bottom of the screen, there is an almost incessantly scrolling text advertising a lot of racing venues and also plugging membership at this racinboys dot com website.
As I watched the cars go round the track, thinking about the fact that most race cars are little more than rolling billboards advertising some something, it got me pondering whether the models which exist for repetitive exposure are effective advertising. You likely travel the same routes to and from work. To and from school. To and from church or the market.
A: !¿!
More that that, are civic planners intentionally designing cities so as to provide for places to advertise? Constructing revenue streams into the infrastructure? Location, location, location? What am I talking about, of course they are.
Just thinking a bit about all of the things that we bring into our lives, and how that stuff gets there. How things get into our homes. This lockdown thingie is a good time to think about such things. No telling what you may learn about you and the life you’ve carved out for yourself.
Advertising loops, revenue streams, and cycles.
A: ?ó¿ó?
My time is unworthy.
If it can be taken away…
…it will be taken away.
That document sitting in a museum in Washington D.C. surrounded by bullet-proof glass doesn’t give me anything. It provides for suggestions as to how parties should treat one another, and we can either adhere to these suggestions, or not. People can choose to respect another’s “rights”, or not. Of course, times change, dynamics change, and how we behave and what laws we respect is also likely to change.
If times are tough, charity is lean, and you are starving to death, you may just have to turn to a life of crime in order to eat/survive. You may turn out to be so successful at this “life of crime” that you eat like a king and are rolling in money. This is likely to breed some contempt in your fellow citizens. They may form task-forces and even make some laws so they can take everything you own from you, and they may even want to take possession of your life.
All legally, of course
Law is a framework, and not much more. You can legislate crap until Christ comes back, but its unlikely to change need(s) nor desire(s). Not without sending someone through the entire process, and such an experience is equally as likely to be destructive as it us to be constructive. Apologies for rambling, but it’s mysterious to me why law is viewed by some as some absolutist something that it is not. There’s much more to “law” than just and only “the law(s)”.
Are there those who wish to do away with the judiciary? Is that what’s going on? Some people want Legislative and Executive branches only? Do this, or else. Everyone behaves exactly the same way. Obey and be rewarded, disobey and be punished.
A: ???
I wonder what’s up with that.
Blur. Everything is blurry. Not fuzzy, blurry. Not clear blurry either…unclear. Almost as if there is stuff in my head that shouldn’t be there. Or maybe just a lot of stuff in there that I don’t quite understand as of yet. Ever since that third week in December of last year, things have been just downright strange. Hell, maybe I’ve reached some level of clarity in and amongst all this spiritual nonsense, and I’m just too stupid to realize it. Maybe it’s just that my focus has changed.
/me shrugs
You douchebags prolly think that I’m a pretentious prick, but I’m really not.
‘Educate yourself! You shitheads need to educate yourself and know just how non-pretentious I am.’
I haven’t heard that one in a while…educate yourself.
“Educate yourself.” What a scam that was.
Educate Yourself means consume, and know
But you must consume only certain things and arrive at similar conclusions in order to be acceptable.
Consume...and know
Didn’t that happen in a garden once and everything went haywire afterwords?
Maybe that’s a main theme in the Eden story and we missed it…
advertising and consumerism
I just saw that trailer above and was thinking about what a great time in history to have such a game in the pipeline to where you can release it in the big middle of a global crisis.
Anyone else seeing this global crisis? Where’d you see it and how? The news?
So…you yourself didn’t actually see it. Just trying to get you primed for the upcoming “crisis actor” stuff that is likely to become prevalent in the very near future. It may seem odd, but much of the goings on seems to include a large contingency of media outlets battling eachother. This Coronavirus thing simply provided an opportunity for them to launch their attacks. Seek the crown, if you will. The Internet will suffer. Much of it is likely gonna wind up looking just like television.
Television sucks
News used to come out of China.
Then it stopped. I wonder what changed.
News out of China may be down, but at least oil prices are up.
We can fall into, and out of, some weird holes
Passive Mentions. Is there such a thing? Let’s go see if we can look that up. You stay here, and I’ll be right back.
OK…I’m back.
Interesting…
‘Passive mentoring. This mentoring takes place during serendipitous encounters or conversations. One person makes comments or performs actions that teach another.’
“Serendipitous”, eh? Very interesting indeed. Is it really serendipity tho if you are planning all along to mentor certain people you see? I mean, yeah, it may be “chance” to bump into someone you know, but you’re already entangled with this person and you already appear to have this individual on a mental watchlist of some kind.
Not really much chance nor serendipity going on there
Or at least, you’re incorrectly measuring the time of the serendipitous event. Meaning, the point on your graph isn’t big enough to accurately measure when “the serendipitous event” actually started. Just seems to me that you are manufacturing opportunity in order to take advantage of these opportunities. Like hooking a fish, but letting it run for a while. Leaving it on the hook, but not reeling it in, keep pressure on the line, and make the fish tire itself out. Does make reeling it in much easier. They practically reel themselves in. All you have to do is…keep the pressure on.
Digress-ish
AH-HA! So you are watchlisting people. A big reason to watchlist people is going to be to cover your own ass. Last thing in the world a religious rising star needs is some higher-up in the church coming to you one day and saying…
”Hey, you remember so-and-so? Welp, they’re strung out on meth, covered in tattoos, and singing evil rock songs for some band.”
I mean, how embarrassing would that be? You’re suddenly a shitty shepherd with stray sheep running mad. What in the fuck you been teaching these people anyway?
Digress-alltheway
What I’m looking for is passive mentions. Like, someone intentionally drops hints here and there for the name of some upcoming something, while referencing this something in a different context, and all of this so that later encounters with this something will have a strange ring to it.
Like for example, a production company has a new television show coming out called “All The While”. This production company pays people to intentionally work “all the while” into any and every conversation they can irrespective of context. Almost like a reverse segue. Or maybe just a different kind of segue/different approach to a segue.
Well this sounds complex…
‘Discussions of the passive mention reassignment of grammatical relations and loss of prominence of the agent, but they do not seem to allow for semantic differences. In defining the antipassive, on the other hand, it seems necessary to operate both with the feature of low prominence and that of low affectedness of the patient if one wants to preserve the unity of the category. If we do not object to this and, in defining voice grams, accept semantic differences (in terms of degrees of agentivity), we could indeed, as suggested by the term ‘potential passive’, regard the facilitative as a subtype of the passive.’
Woah nelly…that’s a mouthful. And it also sounds as if that’s exactly the type of stuff I’m thinking of. But Google Books is showing that this particular book was published this year (in 2020 sometime)?
The author appears to be a linguist, if you scroll up and read the Acknowledgement it appears they are hip-deep in some deep pockets, and reading the Preface seems harmless enough. But what about this nonsense on Page 173 about passive mention reassignments, agents, antipassives, patients, voice grams, agentivities and potential passives? What is all that crap, and also what do they mean in this particular context?
Let’s us look some shit up and see what the experts’ consensus is…
Things would be sooOOOooo fucking much easier if I knew everything.
BTW, it would appear that a “voice gram” and an “n-gram” are the same thing(s).
I may be wrong on that
Having your mind blown likely has less to do with your mind, and more to do with your being. Maybe “mind-blowing events” are equally shaking the pillars of heart, mind, spirit and soul, but we in our time are too hung-up on mind and brain so we miss those other parts which are also being challenged.
We wanna rationalize and reason, and the rest of the whole will fall into line, yeah? But why do we want to rationalize and reason? Why is our focus there? Oh, that’s right…if we can rationalize, we can explain, and if we can explain, we can relate. If we can relate? We can be part of the heard. We aren’t left out alone in the cold trying to understand some seemingly incomprehensible and totally irrational something, and others aren’t shunning us for being some inexplicable something who thinks they’ve been subjected to some extraordinary something which no one else seems to be able to relate to. They didn’t have the experience…
you did
Sucks to be outcast. Isolated and lost and stuck with a coupla itches you can’t scratch.
Itch 1: Understanding the mind-blowing event.
Itch 2: Returning to the fold.
With that in mind, they say you can never go home again. Welp, I’m thinking that maybe you can, but things are likely to be different. But why wouldn’t it be? You’re different, right?
Oh my. Things are going bananas down there. Will likely get even more bananas before anyone can break out the cigars.
Who in the FUCK is Elsa Martinelli, and why am I not married to her?
Oh…she’s dead.
My bad
That's just the way it is
*/takes huge gulp of air… Wahey! That was brilliant, Clicky…*
*No, Clicky, he means a different sort of pod…*
*That’s what they appear to be selling…*
*Thanks, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… Hope the Police don’t confiscate non-essential chair…*
*Err, Mr Tibbles is not a stray, but otherwise, that’s a great Song selection…*
“Harry…”
Josie’s singsong voice called out to me, rousing me from slumber. I cracked open an eye and saw that I was in a hospital room, lying flat out on a bed, with Josie stood over me. The lost love of my life wore a skimpy nurse outfit that didn’t exactly look NHS approved. Not unless Ann Summers was now supplying the National Health Service with uniforms. This has to be a dream, I decided and settled back in anticipation of what was to come.
“Josie?” I croaked and reached out to stroke the back of her smooth, naked thigh. “Have you come to take care of me?”
“Oh yes, Harry, I’m going to take real good care of you.” Josie pulled herself up onto my bed and lithely straddled my prone body. The studs holding the front of her too tight tunic together popped open to reveal a racy lace and flesh tonic for the eyes. “Hold still,” she purred.
She scooched toward me, bouncing herself up my body until I could feel the weight of her curvaceous buttocks on my chest and the hot promise radiating from her groin. Slowly, Josie took the stethoscope from around her neck and delicately inserted the listening ends in her ears. She smiled down at me seductively, lowering her face until it was within inches of my own. Without saying a word, she placed the end of the stethoscope firmly over my lips.
“Err, do you want to try that again?” I asked out of the corners of my squashed mouth.
Josie did but this time found only my cheek. Then my eye, before finally she crushed the listening bell against the tip of my nose.
“Now for your injection,” she whispered breathlessly over me. Claws suddenly sprang out from the end of the stethoscope and dug painfully into the sides of my nose.
“Oww! Stop it,” I cried, wrenching my face from side to side. Above me Josie meowed.
I became aware of the unctuous, amber eyes observing me intently. Nestled within a fountain of fur, the eyes blinked once before a swift jab, with a smoky grey paw, socked me on the mouth.
“Gerroff, Tibbles!”
Mister Tibbles yawned lazily, stood up to stretch and gracefully one-eighty’d on my chest. The morning view of his backside was unparalleled, exactly as it had been for the past three mornings. I was confused; I’d purposely closed my bedroom door the night before, precisely to avoid a repeat of Mister Tibbles’ morning performance of the sun and full moon rising.
Riding out the Coronavirus lockdown with my best friend Lol seemed like such a good idea at the time. Three weeks, tucked away with my best friend forever, in his fully stocked house and an internet connection to die for? Why wouldn’t I jump at his offer to come and spend lockdown with him? True, either one of us might be infected with the 21st century ‘Hack Death’, but on balance, I decided to risk it. Besides, Lol wouldn’t have asked me to stay over unless he was scared, the big wuss.
What I hadn’t taken into consideration was how Mister Tibbles would feel about the new living arrangements. After only a few days of lockdown, I’d begun to suspect that Lol’s pedigree Persian Blue moggy considered me his personal plaything; I was little more than something Lol had dragged home as a gift, to be laid on the altar of the bed in the spare bedroom, all for Mister Tibbles’ enjoyment.
“Tibbles, as gorgeous as you are, I really don’t need to inspect your arse and bollocks every morning,” I said irritably and batted the kitty away. I reached over and grabbed my phone to check the time. “And at six o’fucking clock! Are you serious?”
Mister Tibbles regarded my exasperation from the foot of the bed, with passive swishes of his tail.
Gingerly, I explored the area around my nose with my fingertips. Thankfully Mister Tibbles’ wake up call hadn’t drawn blood as far as I could tell, but my hooter felt tender and sore. “And now you’ve got me touching my face.” I accused the moggy malevolently. “Don’t you know, we’re not supposed to touch our faces in this time of national emergency?”
In reply Mister Tibbles jumped silently to the floor and padded over to the bedroom door, before sauntering around it and out of sight.
“Bloody cat,” I muttered sourly and got out of bed. I needed to inspect the damage. Mister Tibbles was waiting for me just outside my bedroom, presumably to weave himself provocatively about my ankles, to trip me on my way to the bathroom. I thumped a tired fist against Lol’s bedroom door as I stumbled past. “Your bloody cat!”
I washed my hands before examining my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes looked puffy and dry, no doubt due to the ghastly hour, combined with the two bottles of Merlot that Lol and I had polished off the night before. My nose, on the other hand, was red and scratched, like it had lost a fight to a cheese grater. Argh! Thank god I don’t have to show this in public.
I turned from the mirror to use the toilet and caught sight of Mister Tibbles. He sat serenely on the bath mat, gazing up at me. “No, no. You ruined my lovely dream and disfigured me, you bastard cat. I’m not letting you watch me take a piss. I am not here to entertain you, Tibbles. Get out.”
With an innate sense for impending danger, Mister Tibbles jumped back before my foot could make contact with him. He mewed mournfully at me before running out of the bathroom. I shut the door behind him. Firmly. I don’t know if I can take another two and a half weeks of Tibbles!
“What’s up buttercup?” Lol asked brightly as I entered the kitchen some ten minutes later. He was busy percolating coffee and unloading the dishwasher. He seemed perky, gratingly so.
“We’ve got to talk about Tibbles.”
“That’s Mister Tibbles, Harry,” Lol corrected me, with a mischievous smirk. “Mister T doesn’t like it if you don’t use his proper name.”
I sat down at the kitchen table. “I thought you said his proper name is ‘Prince Pomander the Third?”
“No, that’s his pedigree name,” Lol explained and placed a tiny cup of espresso before me. “He doesn’t like to brag of his royal lineage. That’s why his proper name is Mister Tibbles. What’s happened to your nose?”
“Mister Tibbles is what happened,” I told him bluntly, just managing to stop myself from touching my nose by reflex. “Your Prince Pomander thought it quite the jolly idea to use it as a punch ball, to wake me up.” I couldn’t see the fluffy ratbag anywhere. “Where is he by the way?”
“Back garden, stalking squirrels.” Lol handed me two Paracetamol tablets, which I took with a quick drain of my espresso cup. Molten bitterness hit the back of my throat like an express train. I coughed.
“Are you sure you haven’t got the lurg?” Lol asked suspiciously and gave the kitchen table top the once over with a handy disinfectant wipe. Handy packets of wipes were strategically placed in each room of Lol’s house. He’d been following the spread of the virus since the start of the year, via a financial blog he subscribed to. With some foresight, he’d been gradually gathering essentials before stockpiling suddenly became all the rage.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I replied sullenly. “I wouldn’t mind a regular coffee though. One that doesn’t make me cough. You know, with plenty of milk and two sugars.”
“Then help yourself. Mi casa es tu casa, Harry,” Lol told me with a smile. He pulled a fleece jacket on over his lycra cycling garb and downed his espresso.
“You going out?” I asked innocently.
Lol put his cycle helmet on. “Well, seeing as you found it necessary to wake me up so early, H, I thought I’d take advantage of the beautiful morning and clear roads. Would you like to join me on a cycle ride?”
It was a token offer; Lol knew and I knew it; exercise and me are barely nodding acquaintances.
I got up and put the kettle on. “No, I think I’ll go and do a set of stretch and surf in the front room.”
Lol raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“By utilizing your sofa for maximum support,” I explained, whilst loading a coffee cup with heaped teaspoons of instant Columbian and sugar, “I will be stretching out vigorously, with my coffee, to watch breakfast telly, followed by a session of riding the waves of the internet.”
“And no need to change out of your sleep attire. Excellent! Well, make sure you don’t over exert yourself. I shouldn’t be gone longer than an hour.” Lol opened the back door to a stream of early morning sunshine. “Maybe two. Do you want me to leave this open for Mister Tibbles?”
The sun may be shining but the air had a distinctly chilly feel to it. “No, I’ll let the Prince of Pommels back in when he’s finished terrorising the local wildlife.” I shivered and pulled my dressing gown around me tighter. “Go! The draught is freezing.”
Lol made to kiss me on the cheek but stopped himself short. “This corona business is just too weird, Harry,” he whispered sadly, close to my ear.
“I know, Lol,” I whispered back. We stood there for a second, not touching, but feeling the weight of our previously tactile existence fill the space between us. “Go on, go and get your daily permitted exercise.”
Lol left and I finished making my coffee before settling down in front of the gogglebox. I started flicking through the channels: squeaky clean sofa people looking solemn on BBC1; pernickety house buyers searching for their dream home on Two; Piers Morgan indulging in a bout of hissy-fitting on ITV; and on Channel Four, a careworn repeat of ‘Cheers’. Jesus fuck! What a load of crap. No thanks!
I switched the telly off and opened my laptop. Oh, how I missed work. Not the people so much as the busyness and structure of the day. Working from home is all well and good when there’s actual work to do, but since the Fat Kontroller had decided to furlough the business in the short-term, there wasn’t very much for me to do. I felt redundant.
What I needed was a project, something to keep me occupied or I might end up going stark staring mad. A sudden, fearful notion gripped me: what if I started to miss Shazza, F.A. Kontrell’s mouthy receptionist and bane of my working life? I mentally shuddered. Get a grip, I chastised myself. Purge that image, Harry. Time to work up a sweat.
A soft thump on the front room window, diverted my attention away from the ‘Hot Russian Babes Twerking Workout’ YouTube video on my laptop screen. Mister Tibbles, bane of my lockdown life, sat on the outside ledge, peering in. Oh no, I forgot to let the cat in, I mentally whined.
“Go round to the back,” I shouted. Mister Tibbles didn’t move, except for his eyes, which gave a lazy blink.
I contemplated ignoring him; that generally works with Shazza. Lol, however, would never forgive me, though, if anything happened to his beloved and extremely valuable cat. Reluctantly, I put the laptop on the floor, sighed and got up off the sofa.
“Okay, I’m coming,” I called and opened the front door. Apart from a chorus of bird song, there seemed no other sign of life in the street outside.
Mister Tibbles wasn’t sitting on the front window ledge; the annoying furball was nowhere to be seen. I leaned out and scanned the empty road. “Come along Mister Tibbles. Breakfast,” I called sweetly. I expected to feel the soft rush of fur against my bare feet, but all I felt was a chilly, spring gust of wind on my face. “Tibbles?”
Keeping the front door ajar with my left foot, I stepped forward for a better view of the street. I was totally unprepared for the warm squelch I felt under my right heel, nor for the crunch of small bones.
“Argh!”
I lifted my leg with disbelief. A flattened and decidedly dead mouse clung to the bottom of my foot, held in place by its blood and guts. Only its tail moved, which fluttered gently in the breeze.
“ARGHHH!!!”
I hopped outside, toward the patch of lawn at the front of Lol’s house; I had to wipe the foul remains off my being. “Ew, ew, EWWww! Oh My God! That is so disgusting!”
The mouse peeled off easily and lay discarded among the dewy blades, but I continued to scrape my heel and foot through the wet grass, round and around the lawn, determined to remove any rodent residue. My mind shrieked in disgust, Unclean! Unclean!
Miaow.
Mister Tibbles sat on the front step, watching my demented circling with a look of feline bemusement.
“Tibbles!” I rushed toward him but, sensing the murder in my heart, Mister Tibbles quickly scarpered back inside the house. “TIBBLES, NO!”
Too late. In his eagerness to escape, Mister Tibbles bumped the edge of the door with his hightailing. I watched in horror as the front door swung tantalizingly to and fro, before the wind grabbed it and brought it to a close with a click.
“NOOO!!!”
I stopped in my tracks, and for a split second the birds ceased their conversations and the wind dropped. There was only silence, complete silence, and I felt as if the eyes of the Universe were upon me. I stood there, utterly alone, wearing only my pyjamas, a dressing gown and some dead mouse. Then from one of the trees that lined the suburban street I heard the sound of a crow caw. To my ears it sounded like a guffaw.
A flicker of smokey grey movement caught my attention from the corner of my eye. Inside the house, Mister Tibbles had jumped up onto the front room window sill and was prowling along it, beating the glass pane with his tail.
You are so dead! I banged on the window with my fists.
Mister Tibbles didn’t flinch. He meowed and leapt to the floor, before strutting over to the sofa, where he curled up in the comfy spot that until recently I’d been happily occupying. Seemingly ignorant of my impotent knocking, Mister Tibbles then cocked his back leg above his head and set about licking his balls.
“I’m gonna get you,” I growled menacingly at the cat.
For the birds too, it appeared entertainment time was over as they went back to their noisy discussions. Not to be left out, a stream of cold air whistled past, stinging my still tender shnozz and flapping the ends of my dressing gown. I tried the front door but it was shut tight. I inspected the bottom of my foot to make sure it was mouse-free and wondered what the hell I was going to do until Lol returned. I hoped to fuck that he’d thought to take a key with him.
Did he lock the back door when he left? Lol had closed the back door, but had he locked it? I wave of hope surged through me: Maybe I can get in through the back!
As befitting his status of local branch bank manager, Lol’s home was a modest, three bedroom terrace house. The houses either side of his were semi-detached and next to one was a side alley that led to Lol’s back garden. Not wanting to track dirt into his pristine abode, Lol always used the passage to access his house when he went out cycling. I could get to his garden! Even if Lol had locked the back door, at least I could get off the street. I hadn’t seen anybody walk by yet, but that was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be any passersby. I decided to go for it.
Fortified with a plan of action, I belted my dressing gown tight and sprinted out of the front garden and onto the street, passing the neighbour’s house until I reached the entrance to the side alley. Not being a cyclist, I’d never used the entrance before, so my heart sank when I saw the 6ft wood gate blocking the entrance. It rattled and creaked when I pushed at it but the gate wouldn’t open. Locked! Shit! I’ll have to climb over it.
With my right hand grabbing the top of the gate, I climbed up onto the neighbour’s low garden wall adjacent to it. Now, if I can just get my leg over…
“Wot you doin?”
I froze at the sound of the voice coming from behind me.
“Yeah, wot you up to lady? You tryna break in?” a second voice, chimed in.
Oh great! Company!
I turned my head and saw two boys loitering on the street, staring at me. They were dressed in the ubiquitous teenage uniform of the day: hoodies, jeans, trainers, insolence.
“Kind of, yes,” I said climbing off the wall to face them. “I’ve got locked out of my house.”
The two boys looked at each other and then back at me. “Figures,” the taller of the two boys said. “That’s the wrong gear to wear for breakin’ in to ‘ouses.”
“Yeah, no gloves, no shoes. That’s like trailin’ your DNA shit everywhere, innit?” the second boy confirmed.
Oh God. Idiots. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, quite.”
The boys turned away and conferred for a moment. I waited patiently for them to finish, acutely aware of the ridiculousness of my situation.
Eventually the taller boy spoke. “You wanna boost?”
“Yeah, lady. You wanna boost?”
Oh God. Stereo idiots. Despite my misgivings, I decided to accept their offer. By now all I wanted to do is get inside and have a hot bath. “Yes, please. That would be lovely, thank you.”
The boys approached me and the taller idiot crouched down in front of the gate with his hands held out in front of him, fingers interlocked. “So how come you got locked out then?”
“Yeah, how come?” came his echo.
I placed my left foot on the outcupped hands and grabbed the top of the gate with both hands. “That’s not really any business of yours, is it?”
The fingers under my foot unlaced and it slammed to the floor. “Oww!”
The crouching idiot look up at me from beneath his hood. “Do you want our ‘elp?”
“Yeah, do ya?” the second idiot asked from behind his mobile phone.
“Hold on, are you filming this?”
The first idiot stood up, towering over me. “See it’s like this. We can get stuff from school for doing good works. Like vouchers for stuff. Microsoft points for the X-Box-”
“Yeah, X-Box points.”
“And other things,” the taller idiot continued, “But we have to be able to prove it. We’ve gotta have evidence of our good works, see?”
“Yeah, we gotta provide the evidence.”
I was fuming but not really in a position to argue: I did need their help. I inspected the bottom of my foot and rubbed the gravel and grit embedded in it. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But swap places with me so I can use my other foot.”
I took a deep breath and addressed the phone camera. “Hello. My name is Harry Egg. I’ve been locked out of my friend Lol’s house, where I’m staying for lockdown, by Prince Pomander the Third, and these two lovely chaps are going help me get back in.”
“Wait, who’s Prince Pom… Pom whatever?” the camera idiot asked. Ha! You’re not just an echo, I thought, but you’re still an idiot.
“Prince Pomander. The Third. He’s a cat, also known as Mister Tibbles and he left a dead mouse on the doorstep for me this morning.”
“Nasty!” the taller idiot said, crouching down.
“Yeah, nasty!”
“Very nasty indeed.” I placed my right foot in the crouching idiot’s hands, grabbed the top of the gate and lightly bounced on my standing leg. “You should have seen the blood and guts squirt out everywhere when I trod on it.”
“No way! What foot?” camera idiot asked.
I pushed down hard with my right foot on crouching idiot’s hands and bounced up. With a mighty heave, I pulled myself up onto the top of the gate. “The one he’s holding.”
“WHAA?!” Crouching idiot sprang to his feet forcefully and propelled me up and over the gate. “Nah, nah, nah. Stop filming!”
I lay flat on the ground in a daze. I could hear the boys arguing on the other side of the gate. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get up and back to the house. I raised myself up into a sitting position and fought back tears.
Camera idiot’s head and phone appeared over the gate. “Hey lady, you alright?”
Am I alright? I didn’t think anything was broken except my pride. “Yes, fine thank you,” I replied, getting to my feet and putting on a brave face. “No bones broken.”
“That was wicked! I’ve never seen anyone fly so high!” camera idiot said enthusiastically.
“You’re welcome.” I turned and trailing my hand along the neighbour’s high wooden fence to keep me steady, started to hobble along the alley. “And tell your friend to wash his hands.”
A second gate prevented direct access to Lol’s back garden, but this one wasn’t so high. I would have barged it down if I’d had to, but managed to scramble over it. At last, I was in the safety of the back garden. Whereas the street was bathed in the shadow of the house, the back garden suffered no deficit of sunlight. The grass looked green and lush, sparkling with diamonds as the dew drops amplified the light, and only the gentlest of breezes caused Lol’s saffron headed daffodils to bob as I passed. It’s really nice out here, I thought. I should have just sat out here this morning.
I reached the back door, grabbed the handle and turned. Please God, please God, please God.
The door swung open. Hallelujah!
“Harry.” Lol was opening the back gate and wheeling his bicycle into the garden. He looked athletic and ruddy. The bastard!
“Hello Lol. How was your ride? Busy out there?”
“Yeah, it was great. Hardly any traffic.” Lol leaned his bike up against the wall of the house. “You look dreadful, Harry. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, stepping over the door threshold and into the kitchen. “I’m going to have a long, hot bath. You can come up and sit with me if you like and I’ll tell you all about it.” I paused. “Mister Tibbles is not invited.”
*Mister Tibbles certainly has the measure of Harry, Clicky…*
*Well done, Leggy! …/stubs butt… That’s seriously good value, Clicky…*
‘An apprentice butcher who is taught all aspects of the noble art has as much skill as a surgeon.’
*No, you’re an inter-dimensional, alien dolphin assistant, Clicky… /rolls eyes… Now assist me by getting a Song to start this shambles with. If you please…*
*Ooh, good choice. Thanks…*
*Take a looky… /lights up… Masked… /drags smoke into lungs… Full PPE..*
*I know, the double standards on display are quite ridiculous…*
*Catherine Tate is fab, Clicky… /grins… “Doin’ my Tik Toks”…*
*Ha! …/flicks ash… Nightingale does shorthand… /blows smoke… Shorthanded…*
*Ooh, that is an icy blast…*
*/final drag… Don’t blink indeed, Clicky… /stubs butt… If you’re feeling Kubricky, Clicky, then ‘bleach’ is a ‘Shining’ word… /plumes smoke… Where are we with this shambles?*
*It was so sad how Donna Noble and the Doctor parted company…*
*Of course, their relationship was strictly platonic, Clicky…*
*Animated statues…*
*Little angels…*
*You know that they are still trying to exterminate smoking, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… You couldn’t make it up…*
*Me either, Clicky… /lights up… Leggy’s had… /drags… an ‘ell of a year so far… /plumes smoke… Still, we’re nearly there…*
*Nah, we missed the Easter deadline this year, Clicky, wot with one thing or another…*
2019 was generally considered a whacked out, fucked up and completely bonkers year, Dear Reader. Then 2020 arrived with a polite request to ‘Hold my-‘
*Clicky! There’s no gifs in the book… /flicks ash…*
Today is Easter Monday and, as I write, the majority of the global population are locked in their homes, patiently waiting for curves to flatten and Coronavirus cures to be found, so that they get out and get on their normal lives. Currently there is no end in sight.
Hopefully we’ll still be around for ‘Underdog Anthology XII’, due out in October, but in the meantime, Leg Iron Books have generously slashed the price of its Kindle offerings to 99p/99c, so there is no need to be bored. COVID-19 is a novel virus, doncha know 😉
Now for some more butchering…
Beloved children’s author A.A. Milne authored the Winnie-the-Pooh books. The Public school, which his father ran and where little Alan Alexander grew up, employed H.G. Wells as a teacher. Herbert George famously wrote the novel ‘War Of The Worlds’ in which a thriving population was wiped out by a microorganism. If you’re not at all familiar with that story, then apologies for the spoiler.
*Cut it out, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*
Fortunately, A.A. Milne was also a poet and now joins the ranks of Shakespeare, Blake, Lazarus et al. on the slab of an Underdog Anthology Dead Poets page, with a mutilation of his children’s verse ‘Now We Are Six’. It lends itself rather well to the current times…
Now We Are Sick
When it was One,
It had just begun.
When it was Two,
It was Wuhan Flu.
When it was Three
People start to flee.
When it was Four,
Italy at death’s door.
When it was Five,
Boris is alive!
But now we are sick,
Locked down and Covid-clever,
So I think we’ll be sick now for ever and ever.
Keep well, Dear Reader, and if you can’t free your body, then free your mind.
Library of Libraries 
