careful with the rake, master boddo. them leave’s’ve been arctin’ up again.
liable to chew’n you ta little bitsies.
organizing lapperdapscallions into hedgerows, preparatory to clandestine outings on the veranda, the boulevard, or the cattle crawler…
but you know, all this (right now) seems like a complete waste of fucking time. i’m not even (or not just) talking about time in the literal minute gone and minute gone now of the thing, but (also) the big big big sloppy rolling present that heaps on from one moment to the next. there are some things for which i have absolutely no solution (and i’m not talking big big big issues are happersquawlers or anyhint), things in my little corner of the world for which there are no things to make it better, no little linkinlog cabins that i can build which will paper over that great tattered hole-in-the-wall.
‘o la, cuppa tea?:please to ignore that [and yet and yet i keep keep doing it] great gaping gash in the wall. the stevedore’s been through here, or somesuch. or better yet, let’s all pretend that thing isn’t there at all. mmm.’
it’s like that or this. i mean, feel that raging irish blood boil at IT, until the soul’s just burnt to ash in red-nosed mockery. it’s the shamefaced lack of doing which…
when some great heap of nasty bureacracy reaches down and toys with (even all unwitting and unaware–the greatest travesty of all) and meddles with incompetent hands with the life and health of and mental happiness of… i don’t even know where to put that jagged hole. that crazed vacuum which whirls about, devouring sane and reasoned… or what. push or pull, there’s no Where for it to go. . .
i can barely stomach the thought of laying out the honey to catch these flies: playing at some smooth-tongued rascal to maybe smooth the way and set this cracking … aye, the best laid place of mice and men do gang aft agley… but even that (gagging) thought mightn’t have even the slightest change of chance to nudge this whole sorry mess into some kind of……….
[There is something really really really wrong with this country when human beings are treated by health professionals and the health care INDUSTRY (oh yes, boiling noxious smokestack imagery and crippled childlabors and everything like that… that word INDUSTRY is so terrorbly apt) sick sick sick: how gangrenous does the limb have to get before you slice it off? when the healthcogs listen, but don’t HEAR what is being said to them…]
but here’s the freakish thing: this is not even the thing itself, but only the arranging, the scheduling, the preparing of the THING.
i am so tired of laying the bodies of myself and my loved ones in front of this soulless machine, praying for a drib and a drab of mercy and gentleness… or, dare i say it, respect for fellow humanity. this cragged and crunching monster which is so very good at squeezing money out of people in the name of health, but not so very good at healing, in all its forms. where the fuck is the hippocratic oath? and why is it such an alien idea that how the healing is handled is almost (maybe more) important than the healing itself?