Rhomb Us

I'm trying to keep up with my correspondence.

But it's in a van, and I'm on foot.

Luckily, I sent myself a time-release sleeping-gas canister which is set to go off soon. Once the driver is unconscious, I'll gather all my letters and postcards in sacks, and stagger off into the park, where I'll read it all on a patchy mound.

I'm hoping to find some replies to my letters. I send a lot of them. Mostly, I don't get anything back, but I have a feeling that I'm in for a big old bundle.

I'd like to hear back from a pilot I once met whilst vacationing in his imagination. He was a bit of a weirdo, but it will be interesting to hear if he's got back together with any of his husbands.

***

After re-reading the above, I've had to take a long, hard look at myself. Then a long, soft look. Then a short, soft look (twice).

I think I might need to give myself a few more looks before I'm satisfied. I'm thinking one of them will be in the form of a parallelogram.

I don't mean to waste anyone's time with this entry but mine. On the other hand, if I do waste someone else's time, I'll feel like I have a measure of power over people. I believe that's how Scientology started. Time wasting, and the resultant authoritarian buzz.

***

OK. Look. Let's all agree to keep what's happened so far under our respective hats. We all know that it was a mistake. And we all know that I could use the word 'parallelogram' a thousand times, and it wouldn't make up for it.

But I'm sure we're all mature enough to put it behind us. I mean, we're all adults.

Hmm. Are we?

Are there any children reading this?

I don't assume so. I imagine they'd be thoroughly bored and confused. But then, so are the adults.

I don't think there's anything I've written here that I wouldn't be happy for children to read. Sure, I've used the odd bit of blue language. And have discussed adult ideas. But I stand by every word.

In fact, I think children should be assigned this blog as reading material from the ages of four upwards. Four months, that is. Not four days. That's too young.

This blog should also be foisted on other excluded social groups. Phantoms, for example. And animatronic rats.

We've all reached a stage (and I feel comfortable enough to say this, despite our chequered past), where ideas shouldn't be seen as a threat. Except threats themselves, but they're not so much ideas as not ideas.

I'd just like to quickly discuss our chequered past. Because some of you are thinking, "we don't have a chequered past. It is striped". Well yes. In some cases, we have a striped past. And in one case: polka dots.

But the point is this: there's a lot of water under the bridge. We can't burn our bridge now. It's too soggy.

So let's load up our reservations in a Native American kit bag, sling a rifle over our shoulder(s), play a rousing, patriotic ditty on our jawbone ocarinas, and march proudly over the horizon, cursing the Queen with our gait.