Re: You, Mr Footleby-Protherue, prawn or shrimp,

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> need to change gear. "But," you object, "I am not wearing anything. It
> is far too hot to," what with the flies, the perpetual bellydancing of
> rival teleologies, the ginger offerings of votive mayonnaise to a
> dottily wallpapered wife...
>
> I mean change gear, as in stop making that awful racket. YOU think
> it's quiet "inside, intime to the muzak" and no-one can hear. Well,
> let me tell you this: the godawful din of your frustrations hangs over
> town centre like 160,000 flaming fuming turkeys (baneful, sootiful).
> And all because somewhere, once upon a time, maybe from a standup
> priest from Warsaw or Walsall one rainy Sun am, you heard that it was
> "unseemly, not niceth" to go around doing whatever it is you have
> since spent your whole life carefully going around not doing, to the
> applause of no doubt earwigs at all. And all because he swayed
> backwards and forwards and to and fro like a remarkable swaying
> object! You really should forsake a priest a day.
>
> I am going to listen (from now on) to Serious Eyes. I am going to
> scale the unseemly heights of the absurd and slide down the blind side
> into Aston Villa. I am also going to compare my sapling with its
> shadow on a fatwah. A fat lot of wah that'll do me.
>
> I am going to drink Iced Tea. :-)
>
> My palette is mostly green, and consequently I am out of favour with
> the indigoscenti and their complete currant bun brains. I like: people
> who wander around, looking lost and asymmetrical, with different maps.
> Not the one you can get from the Town Hall/Sexual Intercourse for the
> Upkeep of Public Vegetation. They all lead to Rome. The ones that lead
> to Roam. Perhaps I have a piece missing from someone's. I would like
> to think so. It doesn't seem to make much sense on its own, face it,
> bub.
>
> There is a shudder in this Moroccan girl's voice that momentarily
> outmodes flesh. I swear it. You want more of that and of Granada (the
> overturned one, the one that pleasures water, dammit). You want to be
> served green cocktails in a green haze and see significance in the
> paving, where bones are thrown for nicotine addict dogs. You want St
> Yan back, in spite of her treachery. All the rest too. The Atlantic
> never pretended to be more than an ocean, did it? So?
>
> Almost everything you and I can see today will not be here tomorrow,
> or ever again. Nor will it be replaced with anything better. The
> universal tendency is worse: can you not see that? In your own brain,
> dammit? So, save. Faute de mieux, save a small rainforest, a turnkey
> turkey, a hilarious hilary. I HAD AN ENDANGERED SPECIES AT THE DOOR
> THE OTHER DAY. It had glorious plumage, a scarlet head, powerful bill,
> and was selling dental floss and bibles.
>
> Some people are just made to be sat in.

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