The Long, Winding Cypress Path

In Memoriam. Julio Anguita. May 2020. The good die young they say. The good oldies die, too. Briefly, the good die. Whilst the bastards seem to thrive like venomous weeds. Well, probably Entropy IS the Mother of Us All indeed.
Two little Haida birds have come to join me in my grief. Another light gone from my increasingly darker sky. Another lucid mind, another clean heart gone up the cypress path. Another twin soul leaves the fraught stage. And I here, like  a lemon, feeling once more like a serial orphan. Fortunately he’s leaving behind a substantial heritage. We shall not see his like again but with a bit of luck we’ll see pretty good approximations. And as I never tire of saying, perhaps is a good thing he’s gone now, before things get so unbelievably ugly that even the stoutest of hearts might feel tempted to throw the sponge, or pawn the towel, or whatever it is that one does when ones gives up an curls up and croaks. Personally I often have the feeling that maybe it is time my subatomic particles joined the club of the Dearly Departed. And then my particles, and Rosa’s particles and don Julio’s particles’ and William “Billy the Kid”’s particles and my friend Ash’s particles can get together and have a good gossip and play Race you to Alpha Centauri! games with the neutrinos. Losing games, I know, but it’s the though, the intention wot counts.
Goodbye, don Julito, darling mine. . I raise my glass and my fist to you. You live, even in death.
Here, have a nice article/obituary and a shufti with soundtrack & all of the man himself (Spanish only), and un po’ di suitable mu’. Also a grand week, if you can get it.

Another Year Alive

Never say die! Golden (73) Years. Friends old and new have dropped in, defying the “distancing” diktat and two-fingering the engineered paranoia, to celebrate the fact that I’m still around, alive -if not well, and pretty much as they left me last year; that is unrepentant and obnoxious. They have brought me the usual gifts. You know: flowers (or flehs, as Primus calls them), Godivas by the boxful, mock pearls, and so on. Also, the new little  Black Poppet*, the vessel that contains what I most need in these trying and tiring days: Infinite Patience. The ineffable Black Goat of the Woods with Far Too Many Riotous Churumbeles, has attended again. And, lo! She’s smiling!!! Admittedly, it is a wicked smile but all the same, it’s astonishing. I suspect she’s beginning to develop a sense of fun. Really, I don’t know what the Final Void is coming to.
A bonus this year has been that as well as receiving gifts, I have had the chance to make one present. A much wanted one, too. There, all is fluffy.
Have the customary un po’ di mu’ and stay awkward, stay silly and stay sane.
*The little Black (Voodoo) Poppet has a White Twin who will make her debut soon. El que avisa no es traidor.

More Travels In Hyperreality

1) Travellers. It’s a drag when you’re trying to mind your own business as you follow your road and, out of the blue, you acquire unsolicited company. Still, it’s the road you picked for yourself and that’s bound to attract strange fellow travellers, be it only because it’s a road not over-frequented. Who knows, maybe this Chaos feels a wee bit lonely; or it’s a very sociable Chaos and all he wants is a little chin-wag as it, too, goes its own sweet way. One never knows, with Chaos, does one?

2) Traveller. Here we see another story, no less enticing and/or exemplary. This little chap also goes its own way. Only, its way varies with its moods and tends towards the erratic. What matter to it is to keep on moving, from one place to the new one, little unpredictably endearing butterfly that it is.


Mazed Monster. Voilà! Another handy All-Purpose Gripe Indicator. You’re welcome.
Here are some of my favourites from this past ten days or so:

  1. Trump’s new, improved infallible remedy for COVID-19. Next it’ll be bleach, I daresay.
  2. Tony Blair urging the herd to give up more (and more?) of their progressively dwindling civil liberties for a bit of safety … which no one intends to deliver. After all a) you don’t tell the frogs that you mean to drain the pond and b) the only reason you keep your cattle “safe” is to better slaughter them when the time comes.
  3. The presence of don Dominico in that pantomime advisory committee of “scientists”

Have a lovely week.
And un po’ di mu’ (of sorts), of course:

Waves & Tides

Evolution6. Waiting for the Second Coming, or wave, or whatnot, have some rather vain microscopic organisms. NB. The pangolins are pure GMCA (Graphically Modified ClipArt)

Watching The Psychos

King Clown Watch. (No. 19.) Here be the ever-useful subatomic particles Smith and Jones, shining stars of the Far Fringes Commentariat, expressing their considered opinion on the latest tactics dripping from No. 10 to get rid of as many as possible of the superfluous, non-productive, non-consuming, pension-cashing members of this our wonderful Late-Late Crapitalist society.
And here’s a nice bit of gossip:

Precious Things

 Snakes & Spirals. It’s a little known fact that our galaxy is guarded by a couple of hyper snakes called Tilly and Tully who are distant cousins of Odile, the Strident Sneak. Tilly is the mother of Tully. Tully is very young, a little vain and still a bit wet behind the ears but she’ll do very well, Tilly thinks. They consider the Milky Way to be their precious pearl and so they guard it fiercely. Their verdict on and advice to us, poor carbon-based humanoid bipedal peasants is: You are fools. You must stop being fools.
I’d listen to them if I were you.
Here, have a wee bit of juicy gossip:
Stay sane.