...now.
I do not understand.
Even wasting another hour once again stating in writing " have at least half of her great real literature collection for free...." And the usual so bad manners -can't people read? i find makeup quite vile. Just the smell of it wandering her stupid Track of conbooks is quite horrible. And i am not the only one whom realised what an offense it is... a fine womantoo... realised how right i was.
We smiled.
I do not understand - maybe it's the free springwater I am sure some Rupert steals to sell in fancy little Hidden Huts...?
But i doubt it.
I do know it's fait accompli - no so called Jordan Mate infact i am so positively news energy filled up withy abundance i will give him his é....while we're at it the Master of all the indigeonosity con (god Just as Hope Booth was thirty years earlier the queen of Red indian expensive books[first editions even at even more £ pow pow ] for S Ken richbabes ,... neither seller not customer clearly benefited from any campfire wisdom nor calming smoke of freshly foraged juniper branches wafting through the empty pioneering plains .. sunset or dawn as their pallor really did say they didnt get out much, in the daytime at any rate... as my my the my my these fat conartist blokes such as Martín are so behind the curve...just reeling in poor little lost former sovs who discovered the West wasn't quite as good as their telly told em - and that's the Serbian version which said t'was really a madhouse...
oops you see there you go you copy his stupid little acute 'i' out of wikki and he takes over the whole font until he gets stopped.. just as he did to her poor head
Anyway why do i feel so absurdly even better than ever for weeks... like 18 but only ever 18 except i know everything now i ever needed to know also...which is only conceivably possible well past 50...
And act as better than ever - i mean utra multi-tasking and even a full hermitcrab "reset" today...to even purer Oracle Girl pure...simplicity.
Film tomor....
And SO unhermitty i even went back and spoke with her...
God that's not really me. To be so absurdly calm in the face of the rudest woman ever met - even ruder than The Hay English rug one who previously held the record... (gosh there are such twintown parallels its daft)
who's drugs i saw last visit there mnerely to photoshoot and meet Olivia the Pole even if i knew she couldn't exist, werent working...
And tell her "i shall be putting in an order..".. and even more personally straight from the heart, even if lie, just for fun.. " and i hope my beloved child will be actually making the order for her beloved dad.." just to see her face... she did remember me... how curious.
But i feel only sorry for her. So drawn and clearly sleepless.... quite ill.
Funny that how despite being in their simply perfect "community" of artisanal farties ... and bad art (except for one) yet every other word on their posters is abundant clarity and fullsome flourishment(of course i have pics but they take so much more time to sort and sometimes bleep) , so many of them are drawn and really very ashen faced
(z** wasn't - maybe as she told the truth )
Which reminds me....
MAKE A NOTE
The ultimate bad tripa decade back to return to ones place of being raised by old man Ralph and driving up that road once again, for years every inch of the 6km knew as every inch the 13 year old had cycled up steepish hills puffing back and forth the local shittiest comp in the world...... three years
And of course a memory comes by as driving past Zoe's... as the real puffing was to catch up with her and her sister one and two years older than me as i saw them begin their 2km to my school or me to theirs in fact... down their drive, from my spying place from their perfect ye olde filmset of a Cider With Rosie farmstead... so i would happen to coincide with them as they joined the road in and.... always such a coincidence we would meet almost every day...
and simply life changed forever...
And rural folks even when they know they have their little 'fan'' whether unwanted or not... just to have spent one hay harvest the oldstyle way lugging small bales from Mister Henderson's with...
Zoe (extremely prim for a comp girl and farmgirl in fact as prim as they get on her situp and beg..) jeering from her big rick how puny i was...
In that one long hot summer that year or the one after i met them and had nothing to say of course shaking with paralysis as only 13 year olds in the presence of a pure countrygirl goddess can ... when
You just had to be there.
And not even thought of for many a year... but passing ...there she is at the end of her drive....
So of course one gets invited to supper...
I mean... fourty years was it?!... ten years ago.... nope i'm not that old but 30 quite a few..
Single... no children... even rich- the old farm hers (and by then to my shock the gentrifiers had even got to The Vale of Clwyd so worth a bomb)...and no Mister Farmer to be her Gabriel Oak ..i mean is this a dream...
...And we have to spend half the evening her arguing whether fucking Monsanto, her employer - highup scientist, too.... had maybe not saved the world, nature, and all of humanity... as she could only preach
Life cannot be as perverse as that. Nor sick.
forget her even if i can't forget *** ...why do i feel so simply every second was worth it... (especially seeing SO many shuffle around these towns like the weight of the whole ridiculous 7th day temple on their backs...and such pained expressions)
maybe it is because...??
