"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds" William Shakespeare
Thank heavens we're here again. Another year to come. And last year did not vear off into outerspace or parallell universes despite all dire warnings. The politicians couldn't find anyone to sell the year off to either. It wasn't outsourced. No doubt it will go into some antique year storage shop somewhere and wait for a buyer. Might well turn up at a garage sale. For now though it's properly there in my memory at least. Not a particularly good year but a whole year and not one bit less. Given dementia's dislike of the new and love of the old, there's a good chance I'll keep it. Who can say about this year?
I suspect reading Scientific American's special issue on Time that Augustine knew as much as we do. It's really uncertain if tomorrow even is present. Best minds suggest that the Improbability Drive used in Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy is indeed propelling Mother Earth.
My best guess is tomorrow is a compromise position on the best wishes and dreams of Jung's collective unconscious. The suicides and homicides cancel each other out and we're left with mostly harmless. Given the old's infantile rage, resentment, covettting and greed are cancelled out by children's dreams for ponies and huggy bears, we're not doing too badly Despite television coverage, most of the earth most of the time is not at war. Even given the anti baby attitudes of DINKS and Yuppies, the population explosion speaks better for Columbus than Malthus. Maybe this year I'll get my porsche space ship.
I wish you all your dreams. If the rapture gets you before me, can I have your stuff? Now that my mother's in heaven there's little chance she'll let me go elsewhere. Global warming is obviously a product of Latin Lovers and Hollywood Hellfire. Right now it's not Canada's problem. It would be as silly to ask Winnipeggers to join a campaign to save mosquitoes from extinction. May you dream of love and joy and laughter the whole year through! God bless. Here's to another awesome adventure! Raise up those glasses of buttermilk and vote for Harley Engines on Wheelchairs. Move over world, we're coming through!
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4 comments:
Nice wishes. Thank you.
That seems to be broadcast from the more familiar wandering barque, navigating by the stars.
Nevertheless, I do feel senescence, given that there is no time, is one of Yahweh's least funny jokes; on a par with spina bifida and bank charges for overdrawn accounts. Speaking as one who just bought a new hose reel & found it could only be assembled by a determined & fit child, with more functioning neurones than myself, and then finding it still lacked part A , which it obviously needs to be connected to any known domestic faucet.
The 115 year old Portugese lady, who just died, ate only fish & vegetables, never took any medications of any description & never learnt to read or write. Perhaps senility is a consequence of too much knowledge?
I couldn't do a GP locum any more. I salute your fortitude. Hope your New Year is a very good one.
This blog is one of life's more randomly frustrating experiences in terms of its fickle nature in accepting or refusing to accept posts on the whim of the moment. It is an excellent preparation for 2009. It really brings out the inner Zen in one. Or not, as the hour dictates. I never managed to solve Rubik's cube either. I lost my temper at the National Art Gallery this week, because of the completely irrational & arbitrary "security measures" which demanded that one offload all sticks of dynamite, plastic explosives & lethal weapons of any variety into one's pockets & hand over one's empty bags to the bristly moustachioed, security gentleman along with ID. However, modern youth advised me that life is inherently totally stupid at the moment & to expect anything else is to set oneself up for negative emotions & cardio-vascular pathology. However, my grandchildren took revenge by scrambling out of their thoughtfully provided pushchairs & scuttling elderly aesthetes in all directions in a spontaneous game of Crazy Crash Racing. Actually it was performance art & befitted the setting.
I just returned from talking to a delightful 20 year old who having spent a year in therapy concluded that his parents had been good and loving and indeed because they were so loving, he lacked the capacity to self soothe. Further, he felt they had not prepared him sufficiently for life outside their home and hence he drank to excess.
His splendid creative streak is misdirected? He must take up a variety of life-threatening sports immediately.
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