Nine Feet Underground

The last time I wrote here, April was disappearing into the sunset. Given the amount of cloud and rain during the month, that was more metaphorical than literal. Ho, hum, pig's bum! It may or not be the case.  Scrub that: it May be, is. What's the craic, I 'hear' you ask? It's a game of two halves, to be 'honest'. Allegedly, I am a 'parrot', sleep-wise, though not as sick as one. Over to you, Barry. It's alright, I'm just messin'. I am toying with the idea of attempting to write entirely in clichés, but mixing them up and playing with them for the linguistic fun of it. I could try to do that, but it would take a while and I have other things I want to say today.  So, it's time to get down to business.  Nose to the grindstone. Shoulder to the wheel. Pull my socks up. This post is not going to write itself. Sadly, for all concerned, E's health seems to have plateaued again. I'm not sure who this benefits, not her nor our sons wh...

There are a million thoughts all clamouring to escape, but it's not possible to write so many parallel thoughts and be intelligible even though it is possible to think them simultaneously. Life as a Venn diagram.  Separate parts of life coalesce into one life: the intersections overlap entirely into a single set, containing everything. Ziggy Stardust final show; Pandas; M. John Harrison; dipole centre cut at 300Mhz; walking boots; clutter/decluttering; Vinted; Logotherapy; Tom's Studio; Berlin; Bandpass filter; Phaedra; Eternity (CK); MAFSA; Some Velvet Morning; LIBSO; Friars Aylesbury; Amsterdam; ROPAL; noise annoys; Prague; stasis; Drag City; Cork; and so on. Live every day as if it is the last, in whatever way that works for you. (Make it so) The High Lamas /  'Hey Panda'   / 'Hey Panda' [[ ]]