Napping. There once was an old lady who fell asleep on a peregrine asteroid. She was very, very tired and the transient boulder seemed very genial and very snug, so she squeezed her teddy bear tight, asked her floating minders to keep watch and she drifted into a blissful slumber. And lo! the Mother of All Wise Onions appeared to her in dreams and revealed to her the secrets of how to survive the all-pervading and exponentially increasing mental retardation that has been swamping and drowning world-wide politics ever since, oh, I don’t know… the Bronze Age?, or even before. I can’t wait for the groovy wandering rock to float my way so I, too, can have a mystic amaryllian dream.

Vermicelli. And so He’s off again and the days will start getting shorter and before we know (by mid September, I forecast*) They will start with the Silly Season consumerism barrage of things we should buy/do/believe/love/indulge in/whatever. Never mind. Have a lovely summer solstice and tell the small Italian Worms to stop worrying. He’ll be back soon enough. He always does.
*Did you know that in this our miserable Disunited Kingdom, we have a TV channel entirely devoted to Xmas films from September onwards? Really. I never knew that could be so many crappy films about a seasonal thingummybob that has hardly any meaning any more except for the mercantile aspect. Blimey!

Odd Thoughts. Yes, he has some very strange thoughts. Often verging on the heretical. And so us do, too. Join us.:-)

Obfuscation. And how much worse have things got since the little bastard said that, 20 years ago. And how much worse will they get! The New Realities, the New (Sub?)Normals, the New Norms -that change almost from one month to the next, the New Catechisms, the New Rights and the New Duties, the New Friends and the Newly minted Enemies… And the old, the very, very old song. The Siren’s Song that has a thousand masks and one single face. Like the famous Holywood chocolates: twelve flavours, one taste.
Have a splendid week…if you can.

Phantoms. Yes, they float indeed. Sometimes with great difficulty. But they persist. And so do we.

Faces2. Thoughts can, sometimes, with a bit of luck and the right conditions (and sometimes the wrong ones, alas), become actions. Let us think the correct ones and see what happens. The tide seems to be turning and although toothless and probably ephemeral it’s better than the proverbial wet kipper.
PS. Manolito, the Hardy Perennial Alien, has temporarily emerged from his anchorite retreat to endorse and encourage the two little Croydonian fellows in their endeavour. He’s aided and abated by the Perpetual Peon wielding the Sacred Crikkitt Bat for good measure. Have a spiffing week.

Crumpled. No comment necessary. As for the rant…I’ve nothing to say that hasn’t been said already, often better than I could say it. Not that many people seem to be listening or even giving a toss, worse luck. I do have a couple of thoughts hatched out of this whole horrid business but I don’t feel like uploading them today. Perhaps later, in a couple of days, when I feel less wobbly.
Have a good rest of the week and spare a thought for the victims of all the ghastly lies that politicians and their enslaved minions, the MSM, keep on feeding us, relentlessly and ruthlessly.

Squiggly Garden. And so another birthday looms, descends and pouff! it’s gone. (77 is not a boring number but it’s perilously close to 80.) The Family insists that I have a good one but the prevailing winds are not auspicious and the atmospheric conditions are pretty crappy. Too many bad news personal and political. Too much stupidity in the air and too many deaths or impending deaths all around. Still, a girl tries, doesn’t she? Be it only to please my wee monsters.

Boo3. A slightly belated April’s Fool doodah. For all the ghastly genocidal clowns wot rule this crappy Grand Guignol and their gruesome jokes that leave thousands and thousands of dead innocents behind, from Gaza to the Outback. May you all get shingles.

Hostiles. I hate you. I hate you more. You are green. You are blue. You are different. No, you are. You eat animals. You are a sodding vegetarian. You worship the wrong god. It’s the right god, it’s you that is wrong. I’m right. You’re wrong. You speak funny. You talk rubbish…
The list goes on. It’s endless. Is repetitive and static and stupid and brain-petrifying and criminally tedious and it goes nowhere except to the bottomless pit via a downward spiral of doom.
Come ye bugs and tardigrades and inherit a planet gloriously void of crack-brained WeThePeoples wot tolerate Netanyahus and Bravermans and Musks and Bezoes and Blair Witches and Bojos and Abascals. All the infinite variety of comedians, dangerous clowns that will bring about ArmaFuckingGeddon whilst repeating, like dumb zombies: “Capitalism is the Way, the only Way, the Holy Way!”.
And: “Capitalism has lifted thousands of people out of poverty!” (but never, ever admitting to the hundreds of thousands that it has plunged into abject destitution..).
They will bleat: “Repent, oh sinners, and embrace the true Doctrine…or else!” (Whatsoever the doctrine might be, in whichever colour it might bedeck itself, no matter how implausible its gospel…).
They will shriek loathsome metaphors like: “Israel has a right to defend itself!” which is shorthand for “We shan’t stop until the last Palestinian is dead or exiled!” (But preferably dead, for the dead don’t come back to demand accounts, reparations or, god forbid, a place to love and live a decent life.)
They will throw wobblies worth of a spoilt infant and demand more tanks, more drones, more money, more flattery, more luuuurve, more…more…more…
They will throw their bloodstained hands high up in the air and claim that their very existence is under threat and call it the “crisis of masculinity” and they will use this as an excuse to go out and murder a few more women to reassert their god-given privilege.
And so on…and on…and on…
Dearie me.