It's a weirdly-contrived duty-construct, just pissing about denying that the end-of-the-world-is-nigh. Can't quite seem to throw in the towel; the way the story goes is that shit never happens in life how it can be imagined beforehand. People say, it points to this, or it points to that or even! it points to the Truth.
My back passage is a huge conspiracy - it doesn't matter that some rich powerful cunt pulled a fast one in Manhattan or a tunnel in Paris, we the unsuspecting, trusting prols will fall for it all again one day: it's our paranoia that enslaves us.
What I like is how folk are turning on the rich more and more over our collective troubles, and of course they'll remark on that in passing and send a further wave of paranoia amongst us. Oh, how we are able to be manipulated! Me, I keep my legs crossed, and try to take the piss as lovingly as I can.
I trust no-one, but I love the thrill of witnessing the myriad turns of the dragon.
Z
Many of the anarchists are focusing on the global crisis - harnessing their karma to the desire for the world economic system to dissolve irretrievably into oblivion. I have a mortgage, my job depends on the public purse, I have commitments yet I so want the whole steaming pile of shit to go tits up. I console myself that chaos was never a distant stranger and that millions of shiny happy people won't know whats hit them nor will they work it out for quite a while. I blame the people who are part of the problem for grasping pathetically the myth that life is a "bling-thing" and I execrate the rich and famous for leading them to the waters of Babylon.
No worries
Z
Why die? Die younger from selection as not any use. Get old due to a dream of perfection from before. Working out the personality emerging decades ahead from any variety of childhood abuse. Resolve in me for the young and the young ones young, moving on the story of a race for immortality. Human perfectibility: only denied by spurious gods, within the realm of the evolution of the person, the family, even a whole race - christianity is the greatest enemy for all humanists to check at each and every turn.
Z
FLY THEIR WAYWARD BY
There were some seagulls flying west towards their cliffs I guess. V's, arrows and stragglers. One specific tribe, or several? Are they skilled in tackling trawlers or sewerage pipes or fields and tips? Jonathon to a bird just as jack sprat to their prey or frigates to the flotilla? Wheeling and banking and diving, but playing is the easiest occupation and correct action is the greatest. Jonathon, my friend, symbol of the known universe - freebird: fly!
Z
English is pretty absurd per se when spoken either in dialect or by the middle classes. When unpicked a little, the structure ressembles a goat skin stretched across a panning dish with weird morsels of mashed up and mascerated meaning thumping out in slightly squeamish public places. More of a mouthful than gobs full of doorstep sandwich stoppers. Oh la la you are de trop cher gaston. One cunt help but admire the gobby shites with little englander roofboxes and red crosses some sporting little Kernow stickers like they were fluent in the ubiquitous cornish language. Heh - that's not nasty....much? Slap happy teachers spend their two weeks brushing up their GCSE francais and taking smelly cheese back to the staff room to impress and disgust their fetid colleagues. Me....nasty? As I look at the pool table, the swimming pool and the afternoon sun glimpsing me from a bleuatre sky, I say, with the benefit of a nice local 6% lager: tout va bien dans le meilleur des mondes.
Z.
