Don't Sign me Up

Imagine if an old codger forgotten his bifocals and rammed straight into a Black Lives Matter crowd half-blind in his affordable used automobile. Imagine if his foot slipped on the brake and he rip-roared through a mass of bodies. Imagine the thumps on the hood and the limbs sprawling over the shield. He’d be stunned, wouldn’t he? And so would they be. Stunned and hurt and perhaps nearly brown bread (dead).

If that happened, I can see Mason blood rewarding him. They’d give him a specialist title and honour his wickedness. In secrecy of course, so he didn’t know about it, and couldn’t expose them. The fact is the sad old tw*t couldn’t see a thing in front of his nose, but the higher echelon of evildoing would be quick to rush in and perhaps even claim the credit, prematurely claiming he was already belonging to them. Without knowledge, naturally. Something to do with birthright.

Imagine him in prison (if they didn’t get him off), with a fat canteen and honour among thieves. He’d be top of the shop. And all the time he’d be denying it, saying he didn’t know what that particular bloodthirsty faction was comprised off, he thought they were a fraternity of fruit and vegetable wholesalers. Or out-of-hour golfers.

Wouldn’t it be interesting and humorous, this storyline? Of course it would be sad too, depending upon how many perished.

I feel like perishing myself, under the weight of several measly grams of devil’s dandruff. Sorry to mention narcotics and hedonism again, but you know what I’m all about by now, surely. Psychological creativity, astral projection, skin flicks, pharmaceutical drugs, and electromagnetic technology. Just thought I’d mention that one more time why I’m here. It’s not to talk about fictitious ideas. Well, maybe a bit.

It’s to save the world.

Thanks for being in communion. We’re here more often these days, aren’t we? I’ve been plodding this trade for years, and now there is just a hint of familiar recognition from people I truly value, readers. The term ‘readers’ feels like ‘supporters’ or ‘customers’ or ‘fair weather friends’, there’s really no nice way to put it. But you know what I mean. ‘Connections’ is perhaps the best I can manage. Whoever you are, your presence is felt warmly here at the hot spot. It wouldn’t work without your clicks and scrolls. I mean, I can read over it myself as a form of daily journal log, but all I see is are typos and mistakes. Hopefully you are rewarded with unlimited access to the insight of another fully operational human being, complete with failures, faults, and flaws, not disregarding the hope!

I love reading blogs in case you didn’t know. I don’t have a blog roll in the index column but I know how to find a good one. Just follow someone you like and see who they like, the odds are you will like who the one who you like likes too. That’s how I do it. I encountered one website wherein the host believed her own smile was the most powerful thing in the universe, for, as you can tell by my own ramblings, there’s no shortage of big heads on the net. We are absolutely full of ourselves.

And why wouldn’t I be, when inundated with the trivialities of scumbags day-in and day-out. I thought spiritual warfare was having your toast fall off the counter and land butter-side down. Not the thought police deleting cherished memories every time you blink. Still, could be worse. I could be an innocent woman in medieval times accused of witchcraft, because of a strange birthmark. What chance would she have? And what chance will future clones have, accused of not being human. The way we are behaving lately, they will probably consider that eventuality a relief.

I get accused of not being human. It’s the first page in the haters’ manual: Strip away the target’s humanity. If you feel like you are a target of anything, keep dropping by and I’ll look after you. That is of course if I am unable to look after myself.

Take care until next time, A x