These chains won’t keep me from the werewolf in your eyes

Autumn leaves are falling
About her new-made grave
Where the tall grass bends to listen
To the murmur of the wave.

Laden autumn, here I stand
With my sheaves in either hand;
Speak the word that sets me free,
Naught but rest seems good to me.

There are lots of people I dislike. I can’t say hate, as I have never met them. Liberals (who have stolen the word and use it now without irony), any of the usual -ists, hang-wringing guilt types, collectivists, Statists (two -ists who deserve special disdain), greens, and on and on.

There are very few people I actively hate. You could ask me sometime, but chances are I won’t tell you. (Even though my policy is generally to tell anyone what I think if they ask me something.) (As for the people who hate me, I don’t know, nor do I care. Their loss. If I was aware of such I thing, it would be fleeting, as I wouldn’t waste my time on them.)

There are lots of people I think are misguided (like the people who rang in to Radio 4 (good God, stay in the Home Counties buying your organic veg, you dizzy, dizzy bints) wondering at the environmental damage caused by space tourism. sigh) and lots of people probably think I am. Again, I don’t overly care.

There are lots of people in the world. Most of them are easy.

There was also a point to this when I conceived the idea for this post. I have lost whatever fervour I had then. Who cares?

Open, open, I said and she