Brown falcon - a country killer
Hello Your mate hopes that you are comfortable. What are you wearing? That’s interesting. This is the Joe Chip portal, with highlighted links to the various places Your mate rants during the week, only a left click away.
In an act of repentance for writing a mean poem about her, Your mate advised Ms Thatcher that he would not be going to see that new film about her (and that in any event, she was much nicer looking than that Meryl Streep), and she was very kind in her reply. However, Your mate did see the new fascist propaganda film “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, and while he enjoyed parts of it, he does not understand why they were making Kim Philby out to be a bad guy. He was resourceful and a hard worker, what more can any employer expect? This follows on from Your mate’s cry from the heart in favour of internet censorship (which did not meet universal approval, and left several people wondering if they were really Kate Bush. NO THEY ARE NOT.)
There have been developments in Glossolalia, with Trevor taking action to ensure that the streets are more interesting (if not safer).
Following on from his discussion of wombats, Your mate has been considering the flavour of flags, in prose and poesy. Mmm, yum.
The womb-bat controversy continues, with much debate in paranormal circles (is a paranormal circle a couple of wriggly lines? Ahh, but if it is wriggly, is it a line?).
Please let the Great Lakes Socialist know that he has to knuckle down and study harder. To twist the words of Kenny Rogers, there will be plenty of time for revolting, once high school is done.
Reading: “Surface Detail” by Iain M Banks – I used to be able to devour these things, but I keep wandering away from it – no doubt I’ll finish it though it seems like every Banks sf novel ends in suicide*; “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield (via Ron Dionne), so good on procrastination; “Toward God” by Michael Casey. Enjoyed: “The Misogynist” by Piers Paul Read (thank you Peter Craven); “River of Gods” by Ian McDonald.
*On this, I gave up reading a lot of genre fiction ages ago because of the sameness – yes one reads a genre because it meets certain requirements, but one of the requirements I have is to be surprised, to be dazzled, to be impressed, to go, yes, that inspires me. One doesn’t expect that everyday, but you need it once in a good while. (Clockworm has posted on some aspects of sameness here.) Of course, literary fiction is also a genre, and so much of it is the same, or even if it isn’t, NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENS, or it is a reflection of those aspects of the modern world I don’t like. (You don’t ask for much, Joe Chip.) Goodness, I was even forced to read non-fiction. And now I keep flapping about between it all. Perhaps I am being dishonest – I’ve read too much indiscriminately over the years, and I want the old excitement without having to think too much. *sigh* Don’t worry Joe, you’ll cheer up when you win the lottery.