Today’s blog won’t be very long today. I got a little carried away playing Minecraft with Keri. We got a second controller for the X-Box so we can play at the same time. I know, right? It’s technology gone mad. It’s like we’re off of from the future or something.What’s next? Monkeys in space? Being able to talk to people in a different house like they’re actually in the room? Hot and cold taps? Not in my life time.
By the way, this is the kind of inane rambling you’re gong to get out of me until actually start going out and doing thngs.
So. Words. What’s that all about? Have you seen these modern words they have nowadays? Words like ‘yolo’ and ‘motherfudger’ and ‘frisps’. They’re different to the old words aren’t they? Remember the old words like ‘petticoat’ or ‘parsonage’. They were words alright. We don’t get words like that any more do we? Aaaaah. Words.
That was me trying a bit of that stand-up comedy there. I like to think what I do is accessible enough to have mass-hysyeria-inducing broad appeal yet is obtuse and niche enough to really put a stamp on that appeal before it really begins.
You don’t see petticoats any more, do you? The youngsters, they’re not into the petticoats. You wouldn’t see a group of them hanging round Oddbins on a Friday night in nicely-pressed coordinated petticoats with appropriate accessories. No, these youngsters prefer boob tubes and jeggings and nipple clamps. Or the young men with their skinny jeans and baseball caps. You wouldn’t catch them in a petticoat would you? And nor should you. That is way too metropolitan.
Of course, I am not judging anyone there for any lifestyle choices or biological imperatives they follow. It is completely up to the individual how they choose to behave, dress and present themselves to the public and it should not be up to us to try and force them into a neat box they do not feel comfortable in. We should be open-minded and embrace everyone for who they are and how they want to be.
Apart from young people. We should reserve all our judgemental efforts specifically for them until they learn to grow up and become actual human beings instead of hanging round the park, getting drunk and throwing Wagon Wheels at the local vicar.
Little a**eholes. Here is a poem.
The first rising leaves of summer drift
up on an intangible breeze, fixing themselves
to expectant branches. A squirrel
clambers from its hole in the trunk,
an acorn tucked into its mouth,
embarking on a journey to return it
to its brothers and sisters,
in gratitude for providing sustenance through
the winter months.
Across the park, on the rippling surface
of the lake, I watch dusk fade away,
purples and reds melting into
clear blue sky as another perfect
days ends, .
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