..if ANYone can ever take in the words...
Excepting the null-class, her classlessship whackjob.
I suspect she whacks her way through life merrily oblivious.
After all she was a lion tamer (though detail has yet to be ascertained - was she taming some fake lion taming bloke's lions?
How, only, 'interesting'
And i have extremely shark teethed radar when it comes to the so many faking their 'circus skills' so as to show off to the mermaid-class who invaded the land and made Maggie's farm a drug den of supplement sales transactional relationships, only, below their womb wraps and fake rastalocks )
I know she is likely to be above the words,
After all its about looking into the lion's gob and knowing you either fly over the mountain or crash into it.
Or are as The Mong learned, you're either up that duff, or not
And when you are, all changes.
And you entirely forget past Miss Carriage...
Anyway i know nothing, except i doubt anyone except said whacky LT,
can actually take in words such as " I am constant".
And playfully Voltaire, even if i would love time, now, to attempt to learn more about him. Even if living in an ancient dysfunctional family 'home' - or in the serf's quarters..one realised 'history' is not even a partly pickled pinprick under the skin of who people really were...
That 'home' not being available to inherit after it was actually blown up as the uppers were so laudanum 'n punch pickled they couldnt keep up even the window taxes.
Anyway so what as so sadly seen own eyes: A real 'compassionate' empathisation... death can come along just like that, when one gets to a certain age. A man who a few months ago had good bounce for his age - about the only one who I would see regularly up that (now finished) hillock pathway... suddenly looks like he's been on their 'Liverpool Pathway' (you'll have to look it up" I ain't got time to waste on those not in the loopy loop that got snagged around everyone else's collar as they try to repurpose it as some Brand of fake bohemian necktie).
Anyway...if i say "the great reset" i mean a great one that takes time... and via mutual benefit, has worked.
Even if the second phase may take a bit of time too.
But it is more than a 'constant' feeling. I myself a stupid optimist don't even get how I could have a spring into summer and into nowish of such total bounce. Unimagined bounce i thought the bounce times were chucked in the swamp of their sick minds (distracting me - so plenishy-'GIVING' of my time and anergy) in March.
So if one is to - short cut language! claim a bit of Voltairean heritage or similarity - and i only have constantly all my life seven cups of strong Serbian style coffee a morn', one has to at lease describe 'the common good'.
I doubt the (as one tried to simplify via shared lexicon twenty years ago ) 'newish age' lot - which means almost every invader to Swestershire, and all of those invading the Marches even if they were clearly i see now those who couldn't afford a gaff in Dooney-Poshshire... and thus had / have some innate sourness merely from that failure in their lives..
Or 'alternative' or mermaid class, or Toty types... (except her DEFINATE null-classy one ..i only like and value truly the Nullites - are there more? ) or especially fake camp dwellers around Gweekshire...
...My my that was so interesting even if three whole years ago.. seems like yesterday and at once a whole lifetime back - which is how to beat the ferkers into wiping that smug ejit (Blogger spelling is such a one of em it redlines it as Miss Spelled..) fake smile off their fake faces...
'The Common Good' being even if the poor sick ADHDer.. or whatever else i forget was her excuse for being too lazy to get up and sort out her twenty tons of hoarded builders-wood and other madly collected miscellany...
You have to act towards here the way you would wish all other peeps acted to each other...
Gently kick her arse into gear with a bit of daddy-love, as you are helping her salvage all the wood pannels left for a winter
or so....
no matter what your 'feelings' are...
towards her, cos your plenishy plates of mushy microdose they all preach
don't work.
And turn you into a vicious b**** straight out of East enders...
disguised of course behind wombwraps surfie signage
and miscellaneous other rotten stage
directions for a play that's no different to that ye olde Hollocaust
or hollow cast..aways
nothing even to say, about 300 dead children since that so called ceasefire
a tad logistically assisted, down their road
Only ever used to call, someone in authority
and set him on her - not very neighbourly
wow thats a pretty good insta-poem... not pondered never aforethough
Now i gotta write one that .. sums up what i felt when i saw her violence
and hurt thumb, from her dumbass showoff ..dance
