The trouble is I have nothing to say. A few things happened over the past few days which I thought worthy of a short mention, but they all floated past the ship and disappeared on the wake with the rest of the gash. And the current news in the political sphere is dominated by two features:
Home: The Labour Government in Britain continues to be set firm in its demolition of the welfare state in order to have more money to spend, and is aiming its fire mainly at the sick, the disabled, and the pensioners. Meanwhile, the insanely rich are being quietly passed by. I think it’s about time the Labour Party changed its name.
Abroad: The Great American Windbag continues to leave no-one in any doubt that he is King of the World and everyone must obey his diktats without question. And he used a questionable expletive in a public statement to augment his authority.
I could go on and on about Trump and his laughably theatrical sidekicks, but why bother? I’m sick to death of their presence in a world I have to share.
Apart from that, nothing worth reporting apart from my two rescues this week – a newt which I thought I’d trodden on, and a ladybird slowly drowning in the birds’ water bowl. The god of small things who normally provides my life’s better experiences is largely absent at the moment.
I finished reading Siddhartha but didn’t learn anything new, which was disappointing. Then again, lessons sometimes jump into your pocket without you noticing, and then jump onto your shoulder and say ‘boo’ somewhere down the line when they feel it’s time to be relevant. So who knows? And I could see why Siddhartha’s Kamala was a reflection of my priestess in one regard, but it’s unlikely the priestess will pre-decease me. I still wonder where she is sometimes.
Bye for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment