The Day I lost control.

This is a weird, I\'ve started living with some kind of device in my hand. Who would have thought that electronics would impact the world. I wish I had a friend.

Thoughts for the day

On movies--
American movies are far more directed at an audience of arrested and indulged children than a society of alert, responsible, challenged adults.

On writing--
I suspect that all English people have a sneaking liking for sentimentality.

Ouote for the day "It is a wonderful thing about women, they can love people who are ugly. They see something deeper than beauty. We men can't do that.".......Axel Munthe. Author of The Story of San Michele.

As I watched the London bombing I thought of something said by St. Augustine..."Not the punishment but the cause makes a martyr."

Last, but not least, I tried to watch The Passion of the Christ, too much screen violence and too much camera lingering lovingly on wounds.
I am a writer severely out of key with his time.

Hightrollop

The heat sizzles here at Hightrollop. There isn't a breath of air that isn't saturated with moisture. That's why the whole villiage is out gardening, mowing and trimming, they all want to go to hospital for an aircondition rest. The worst offender is Murtle Coggs, that emaciated mother of seven. She's welding a weedeater with the virtuosity of Sir Hugh Huntley, conductor of the New Hightrollop Symphony. Oh heavens, here she comes down the street, throwing that monster on every tree in her path.

I folded my umbrella and rushed inside. The woman has an unholy gleam in her eyes, and I know that dust and dirt flew toward me like an arrow to a bullseye. As writer in residence, of the county, I am treated with reverence and loathing depending on the circumstances. I suspect today it's the latter. Our little Maple-Leaf Lane residents are determined to win Hightrollop's garden award for most beautified street. Even if we were beatified by the Pope, I doubt the gold medal would meander to this side of town. You see, we're considered the low side of Hightrollop. At one time our two little lanes were called Lowtrollop.
The Bishop disaprroved, so it's only whispered with gossip, as demeaning the person in question. I mention this only in passing as I'm been painted by certain women as a Lowtrollop. I smoke. I dance. I have had sex. I have never been married. To top it all off, my yard is filled with tacky yard art and wild flowers. It's only when some stranger comes to town that they all gush, oh we have a world famous writer living in Hightrollop.

I must stop. I'm going to the Vicar's for tea. Those royalty checks are ever soooo slow.

Carphology

"Carphology" the delirious plucking at bedclothes in old age, the vestigial need to go on doing something useful with our lives right up to the end.
Mild carphology means we haven't started eating the blankets yet. I'm not saying that I have started eating wool myself, but I do exhibit certain symptoms--fear of the young, rap music, industriousness, traffic, climatic changes, violence, sex and the conviction that changes in society are all bad.

It is said that time passes more quickly as you get older and this is why some old people don't even have time to take down the Christmas tree. This speeding up of time explains why we get so upset about everything changing. Sometimes I catch myself thinking - only a few years and it will all be over, before I realize what that means. There is a bright spot-toilet paper greatly improved with time and maybe a few other things, I haven't thought of. I had better check the stove, I think my wool, er... lunch is done.

It's My Turn

New Beginning. No, this is not a new baby site, or an old baby site for that matter. I wish this to be a new inner me, with a new baby(my book), The Journal of Victor Frankenstein. I pledge to ---write everyday, raise this baby, and throw it to the wolves.

I have to do something for me.