22nd November 2021

I can never deny my utter devotion to those pinnacles of masculine desire the ‘femme fatale’. Slinking deliciously across the theater screen or the slightly soiled pages of some garishly covered paperback, their character, vivacity, undeniable desirability, draws me like the proverbial moth to the naked flame that most certainly marks my immediate and particularly graphic destruction.

My fascination started early, in pubescence, with the strangely promising attributes of my sisters friends, close female neighbors and relatives, those women that rightly should have been beyond my possible gain, but whose unquestionable charms far outweighed the difficulties such liaisons might represent. I was never a child whom saw impossibility as necessarily a denial. Hope springs eternal in the bowels of the beast, or the furtive envisions of a growing, knowing lad. Such imaginings are not unusual, unique. Stirrings of attraction, desire, sexuality, occur in all growing creatures, it is of course the human capacity to elicit actual emotions from such intimations that makes us entirely singular in a multiple creation. The reality of the maturing psyche is quite alarming enough but add the color, complicity of imagination, and a recipe for future depravity comes to the boil quite blatantly at the bottom of the stew pot.

My dealings with the development of fantasy I found quite reasonable, acceptable, the division between reality and fancy being quite clearly defined, encased as is within a concise boundary of acceptable behaviors, delineating what might be from what can and should be. It is this particular parameter that divides the reasonable controlled from the outright psychopathic, sociopathic, a line in the sand inclined to move quite arbitrarily according to the exact location of the eternally rising and falling tide of circumstance.

My dealings with the fairer sex have been exhaustive, enlightening, educational, but of no greater import, magnitude, or meaning than any other individual born, as we all are, of the feminine. The essence is to observe, listen, interpret, and in the end entwine, wholly envelope the depths encapsulated eternally in the mother of the species.

21st November 2021

I have recently been pondering the differences between evil and virtue. To my surprise and to be honest disturbance I have concluded that the distinctions betwixt has more to do with relevant circumstance than actual process.

Major acts of profound wickedness and immorality that affect  multiplicitous persons,  acts of unmitigating mass violence, senseless cruelty, unnatural maliciousness, are easy to categorize as diabolic, for any action that has no limits, no controlling logic or pattern, must be the product of  a diseased or irreparable damaged psyche, but lesser happenstances that in a convoluted manner benefit the larger populus are decidedly divergent and may in the broader picture be almost, indeed ethically desirable,  and therefore acceptable.

Indeed to take the simplest example, the argument that state sponsored execution, assuming we accept the widely held premise that all killing is iniquitous, is anything more than legally underwritten revenge, is utterly fallacious.

The difficulty arises with definitions, for language tends to attach interpretations to words beyond their simple meaning. Evil is somehow demonic, fiendish, black hearted, odious, and contemptible, so therefore to pursue any action bracketed with those understandings must necessarily be wrong. Morality is a constant sliding comparative, moving according to the natural changes of mass understandings and interpretations. Homosexuality is a prime example of a once historically categorized evil, that has with deeper perception and compassion of the true human state become a wholly acceptable, indeed normal persuasion. Over the same period virtuousness, particularly in relation to human sexuality, has been obliged to change dramatically, gracefully, irrevocably.

The fluidity between bad and good behaviors, thoughts, concepts, means that the public at large have become morally fractured, divided multitudinously, a pit of serpents, often writhing acrimoniously. We have entered the age of singular, individual, perspectives. The moral and ethical compass has been crushed perfunctorily, in the clenched fist of the disparate masses.

20th November 2021

Pride is a dangerous quality to own or expound, bordering as it do on the edge of hubris, a fault despised by human kind and the gods alike.

Self-praise smacks of the boastful, the old soldiers tales of daring do, and medals won, always inclusive of the parallel suffering of others whether directly or by coincidence. No act of arrogance goes unpunished, no seeming heroism unblemished by accompanying tragedy,

We all guiltily take gratification in our private and public victories, but seldom see or count the cost of the chain of events such personal fulfillment spreads upon the universe. Some choose to hang their hat upon the peg of such imagined glorious achievements, others more correctly feel the true weight of any supplementary circumstances.

The true appendage of pride should be guilt, a recognition of the arbitrary factors that bring favor and fame to one party, and oft undeserved shame and obscurity to another.

19th November 2021

Please! My most exuberant friends, belabor me with tales most cheering and wistful, sufficient to dispel the terrible forces of nature that seems to cast their shadows across our dealings, hopes, and possibilities, from every conceivable point of the compass.

 Depression s a force I have largely held at bay my entire life, carefully concealed behind a veil just thick enough to deflect the emotions consequences from every day appearance and vocation. The threat has ever remained, chained, goaled, discreetly disguised from easy recognition, for ‘tis a disease that spreads more rampantly that any present virus in our focus.

My initial slide being quite naturally coming from  the realization that planet earth was not the nirvana my prophet Willian Blake has espoused in all his writings and marvelous interpretations, but was rather but an imaginary oasis along the rocky pathway to Golgotha, which must eventually be all of our destinations.

Such fatalism does not sit easily upon the young, and so I sweetened my convictions with a constant flow of distracting nothings, amusements, pleasures, momentarily meaningful but relative to a reasonably long lifetime mere diversions. Thus was my woe successfully masked, plated in a metal sufficiently hard wearing to remain peerless to all but the most discerning eye.

As with all false coatings wear will eventually work through the overlay, particularly in areas of stress and constant friction, to expose quite graphically the reality laying hid incognito below the otherwise gleaming shroud. The subordinate surface is base metal at its most easily spoiled, oxidizing, flaking, corroding, disintegrating with wholly natural ease and speed.

I can still present haughty oblivion to the terminal finality of the condition, years of practice have set me well in the skill of brushing over faults up to their ultimate failure, a final condition that exceeds even my powers to blindly and deafly disregard. Yet still the gilded smile remarkably remains.

18th November 2021

I neither doubt nor question my complete reliance upon technology, an unfortunate state I have been lulled into progressively over the years. The last decade has been particularly detrimental to humankinds self-reliance, especially in the area of entertainment with all ages and variances becoming addicted to the all-consuming media force fed to our intellects day and night. All and everything is momentarily available at the touch of a key or the depression of a button, making the need for physical effort all but redundant. I recall with some amazement the need to walk or cycle the mile or so to my nearest library when I was young, in order to check any information or facts that was not immediately available in volumes withing our home. That all such reference material should one day be but a moments perusal away is still a matter of some amazement to me, a miracle to comprehend.

Unfortunately, as is always the case convenience instills laziness, in effort, and especially research, the first discovered reference often being considered unequivocally correct, without question, or contradiction. This equates to that tiny village library that was commonly transported in the interior of a motor vehicle, with one half of the books being entirely nonfiction, the other half made up of fictional tales, classical and modern. The informative volumes being limited, only one of each subject might be available. I soon learnt that this singular source was not necessarily the most trustworthy, and the short trip to the a larger library collection was always worthwhile for the surety of confirming verification.

Untrustworthy facts can be the ingredients of rumor, conspiracy theory, disinformation, propaganda. The ease of one key collation, and a lack of educated interpretation, is the source of much inept and misleading hearsay, muddying otherwise pristine waters, confusing the simplest of connections to that of the Gordian knot.

 I was taught under no circumstances to believe everything I read or heard, but perhaps these are more trustworthy times.

17th November 2021

Seems ‘tis the middle of the night, well actually it is but an hour or so before dawn, yet I am wide awake, full of vigor, hungry for food and drink, nothing like I should be at this ungodly hour. I have ever been a night person, enjoying the dark akin to some nocturnal beast, having no fear at all of shadows, having seen enough of the miseries of the day to understand that evil has no particularly preferred hour. Rather I have always enjoyed the solitude, privacy, the absolute quiet that the witching hours can bring, total release from the worry of being witnessed or bothered by any others but those of similar persuasions.

The appealing nature of that time ‘twixt dusk and dawn has never proven a liability, rather has allowed me to follow my predilections for all things secretive and ocularly obscured, a time to revel in the enticing gloom and murkiness, lit only perhaps by spectral producing moonlight or the occasional smoldering lantern, enhancing mystery and the practice of all manner of obverse behaviors.

16th Novemver 2021

According to the media ten thousand veterans marched past the Cenotaph during this years Remembrance parade, marking the anniversary of the nearest available Sunday morning to the Eleventh of November, the actual date forever marked to celebrate Armistice Day.

That bare number of civilian participating in the parade is remarkable in itself but inaccurate in several vital ingredients. Anyone studiously observing the event would have noticed a good number of the throng were disabled, either riding in self-propelled chairs or being pushed in wheelchairs by other attendees. Also the ten thousand throng were made up of a mixture of retired service personnel, children and adolescents of both sexes, and a multitude of civilian women, the purpose of these latter two groups being to represent familial servicepeople whom had died whilst in uniform or since the period they spent in the armed forces.

Yet still the sight of ten thousand private citizens marching in unison for but one purpose, to memorialize the fallen, was wonderous to any soul whom cared to watch the more than hour long spectacle, me included, viewing from the comparative comfort of mine chair overlooking the live feed upon my laptop.

I have viewed, or participated in the spectacle all of my life, marveling that the solemnity nor popularity of the occasion has not diminished in the least, in fact has in recent years, through a very noticeable chance in the participants, gained a poignancy far deeper and more heart rending than ever before. My Father participated attended, participated, and viewed before me, both in memory of his own antecedents and contemporary fallen colleagues up to the very year he joined their number. To this very day I strain to see his chiseled face amongst the participants wearing the red beret he donned so proudly in war and peace.

When I first can recall witnessing the parade the Second world war was but eight or nine years passed, and all of the marchers were demobbed or retired servicemen, with very obvious reasons for attendance, sorrow and regret. Camaraderie is most important to the ex-military, and such occasions are the very nature of amity. Over the years the base make up changes, from natural causes, by the year two thousand and seven the last participant from the First world war had passed, and many from the Second would follow all too shortly. This year the men who fought in Korea, Suez, and the jungles of the far East are the elder veterans, their numbers numerically all but outweighed by those of the Mideast Conflicts.

All Service personnel are now equally represented, the feminine and LGBTQ participation in the armed forces having been at last honestly and publicly recognized, as should always have been. Equality amongst the serving and fallen has finally been admitted and recognized.

I remember attending the nineteen ninety- nine event and wondering how much longer this glorious but dated dinosaur could survive. The answer after another two decades appears to be forever. Stronger, larger, more poignant, the National Day of Remembrance, as was, as is, as should be.

15th November 2021

As is oft inclined to befall these last few years, I awoke filled with a feeling of unmeasurable joy, happiness, overwhelming luck, quite sufficient to make my rising up again to rejoin this glorious reality I abide each and every day a step physical without the slightest effort or concern. It is remarkably pleasant upon such occasion to imagine my bounteous good fortune was deserved rather than purely circumstantial happenstance.

This aura of felicitation is entirely spiritual, as being one hundred percent human I am inclined momentarily to suffer the ills and pains of physical discomfort unsurprisingly caused by the constant grinding weight and pressures of aging. Even these negatives are abated, stunted by the counter effects of disproportionate serendipity, limiting any momentary shortcomings to the annoyance of but mere insects mashed upon the window of contingency.

My sentiments may diminish as any given day progresses and matters of mild irritation are rubbed unheralded upon mine psychic hide. But in entirety my notion of bewildered wonderment will remain, distinct and untarnished.

14th November 2021

The most staggering and equally innocuous communications arise from unfathomably distant places and mind sets.

From strange abodes is understandable, after all each one of us inhabit but a tiny area upon this vast dual hemisphere and considering that all animate objects tend generally to be in constant motion the chances of interaction with any specific outreach of knowledge is remote. Distant mind sets are even less simplistic to penetrate. Once the appropriate being is discovered the searcher must then delve into matters hid deep in the folds of the others intellect, protected therein by all manner of subterfuge and demons.

Much easier to just surmise we comprehend all the contents carefully compiled and stored therein, make trite connections,, take wild leaps, assume the fashionable cloak of the omniscient, without ever earning or deserving its lofty assurence.

We must all recall with care the infamously pedantic, ‘Remember All Candida Spreads Through Kissing,’ generalization.

13th November 2021

Priority for the day, purchase lots of tinned soups at the Market! I like soup, its nutritious, easy to prepare, readily available at shoulder level, stacked two high in a kitchen cupboard. I have recently taken to easting flour tortillas with my days meal, they are that little bit of bite and chew that sets the digestive system rampant, and when lightly kissed by heat on both sides extraordinarily delicious. My choice of flavors in delicious rich stocks varies by the season, but French Onion always fits the bill, especially with a little shredded cheese a-floating upon the surface of the steaming dish. Asparagus and mushroom also appear high on the favorites list, Mulligatawny and Mock Turtle making the top ten.

Buttery tasting croissants, I purchased half a dozen. Two with a slight spread of extra butter, a can of French onion soup warmed with a tin of sweet green peas added makes for my evening repast, and very tasty too. The soup and pea combination is enough for two meals, so the exact same tomorrow.  I can never get too much of a good thing!