FILLED WITH CHARITABLE THOUGHTS

A calm day. People happy that the heat wave seems to have ended. With a bit of luck, Autumn can now start. Dews. Damps. Fog. At least in San Francisco and nearby coastal areas. The smell of woodsmoke on the breeze.

Which probably means that everything to the north of here is on fire, and perhaps, as we were advised to do (by an "expert"), we should have raked the forest.

An elderly gentleman drifted by, smelling faintly of pooh.

Sometimes I am not fully vested in this.


The unpleasant news is that the Renaissance Fair is back, along with another one of San Francisco's Music Festivals for the people from the hippie generation. Traffice jams, probably the smell of pot, and stringy corpse-like fingers gyrating to the antiquated melodic stylings of graybeard wheezers who had their heyday years before I was even plotting high-seas piracy with my kindergarten classmates.

A two foot tall beardless Captain Blackbeard.

Let us enslave that bunch on the see saws!

And enjoy their pretty marbles for ourselves.

What do I remember of pre-school? Nutritious biscuits, milk, paints, and nuns. And the meanness of children. Which I see in strictly verbal form replayed by the senile Republican swine becoming vegetables in the backroom. Venomous old bastards. Paunches, shiny pates, and at least one of them smells ..... vaguely ..... disquieting.

Old age is wasted on them. As Patrick put it the other day, "they need to go back into the mines for twelve hours a day, that'll set 'em straight". I envision them pathetically pecking at the rock face with pickaxes too heavy to handle, weeping at their own ineffectiveness.
No watery gruel this evening unless they fill a barrow.

I can see myself, Indiana Jones-like, whipping the elderly miscreants.

Dammit, old fossil, did you forget to wipe?!?


I would have made a great nun. I am filled with very Christian disapproval.
Despite no iota of faith, or belief in the idiotic narrative.
These old fusspots need correcting.



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