What worries you more? The lies you have told? Or the truths? The fact that you tried and failed (or tried and were told you failed) or you never bothered at all? All the wasted people wandering by you in the street, the lonely and dispossessed looking for something, anything to inspire and lift them from their mire.

There are plans afoot, bold plans of sedition. The world gets what the world deserves. My money is my money; my property is my property. The idea isn’t formed, very close, so very, very close, and those who need to know will help the thrashing out-ness, and in the end, change it so it works. And claim their part of the reward. Trampolines with sunspots, in the most obvious reference in this post.

Those who say they are bored are suffering from a failure of imagination. So much to do, so little time. In that manner I have decided on my next projects, and will start on them soon. It was to be sooner than that, but links in chains crumble. Oh to not be at the vagaries of someone else’s whimsical notions. There is a home for old crumbly x86 boxen. Oh yes.

My memory has just been sold. Chinese whisperers, talking to horses. She should remember she is no-one. As we all are. Overhearing the conversations on the boardwalks, the bright young things who think they will save the world through their reinterpretation of literature through some skewed feminist viewpoint, their shining logic enough to bring down the Patriarchy™. It won’t. Reclaim the rights in better ways. More lucid ways. No two people are equal. Party for your right to fight. You never got it on with that revolution song. But do keep with the shorts-and-tights. The Cambridge-Town Platonists do approve.

There is no such thing as random.

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