I’m growing increasingly tired of a world run by psychopathic potentates, disingenuous politicians, a blatantly corrupt and self-serving capitalist system, shadowy and secretive but highly powerful organisations, and glitch-ridden technology serving the cause of separating the powerful from the people. Western civilisation is but a thin coating of cheap gloss underscored by a cesspit and driven by its fumes. And yet so few people seem to notice the rankness of the smell.
I felt angry and depressed and considered shouting the words for the birds and animals to heed and take notice, but I didn’t because I got waved and smiled at by the lovely lady with the little girl who lives by the lane. (I discovered last night, by the way, that alliteration was much favoured by writers of Old English - which was pre-Chaucer in case you don’t know - so maybe my own love of the faculty is a genetic hangover from that side of my heritage which isn’t Irish.) But to continue:
I’ve written before about the lovely lady with the little girl who lives by the lane. I’ve often wondered why she extends such delightful favours in my direction, but maybe the secret lies in the very fact that she does. I presume that she must be possessed of a certain oddness, you see, because what other reason could there be? And I’ve noticed that she has an authentic air about her, which is rarer than I think it ought to be. It’s fortunate, therefore, that I feel instinctively drawn to people who are both odd and authentic because they’re about the only people I trust. They rarely seek power, wealth, or influence, and that, in my book, is a laudable quality.
One day I must make the effort to introduce myself, preferably when I’m not feeling angry and depressed.
(And if you're able to read this post, it indicates that Google didn’t try to blackmail me as they did with the picture insert. Hurrah for now.)
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