Francis Meyrick

Of binary digits, and much silly

Some thunks, although interesting (for me) stubbornly refuse to be tied down to my flickering screen. They dance with me, like whirling dervishes, but refuse my hungry embrace. I know what I’m thinking, kinda, sorta. But when I put it all down, what I thought was a fine example of verbal elegance? Haute cuisine des mots? It all appears more like an old pair of wrinkly, baggy trousers. Well worn. With the arse hanging out. Just not chic. Or manly-flattering. At all.

My regular readers (all two of you; Lottie has joined a convent) (was it my jokes??), will know I regard the species humanity with perplexed bewilderment. I completely fail to understand the beast. As a dead man walking, having dodged all manner of missiles, and machetes, and women, I quite like to hop-skip. I giggle at the silliest things, stroke kittens, and give generously to all sorts of dubious charity. I can’t help it – I’m a soft touch.
The thunk to which I allude above, is the sense that Life is really quite fascinating. But temporary. Sort of a free taster. A pre-view. A trial subscription, where they promise faithfully not to hit your credit card.
I like Life. I’m very curious. But about the last thing I’m able to do, is obsess about money, property, wealth, ‘legacy’, or fame. Such silly. I believe that if you are very, very lucky? You might just be able to leave this world a minuscule tad happier when you depart, than when you bawled your way in. That’s all. Collecting binary digits in a computer main frame (called mo-ney), or having a chateau SO big, that you have to catch a tram to the bathroom, seems nothing but a contribution to widespread human absurdity. But then so many of these ‘elite’? Are barking, woof-woof, greedy bonkers. Shallow folk.
I say that, from the safe, perfect sanity, of my own howling-at-the-moon, of course.

I muse to myself, (and my two regular readers) that this poor world will never soar to its potential celestial heights, if we cling to silly trivia. And we must recognize that ‘they’, the self-appointed ‘elite’ (ha!) use their massive wealth, to tell their massive Media conglomerates, to praise, laud, sanctify, THEIR silly binary digits. And their absurd, woof-woof priorities. The entire ‘Mess’ Media (messing with your head) exists to make them look good, and me look like a fool. I don’t dispute the fool part, at all, but I sure as eggs ain’t Camembert, laugh at their wealth and foppish air of perfection. The noble ideal. Look-at-me, I’m worth five billion. You-ain’t shit, pard’ner, I raise you twelve billion.
Who even cares…?

I would love to see a far more spiritual human race. Gazing, reverently, at the stars at night. Respectful for that which we barely even begin to discern.
We know nothing.
But that is NOT what the Media indoctrinate you to believe. Accept as fact.
The more’s the pity.
Oh, well. Moon’s up.

I have some howling to go do.