sanemagazine: wonderful rubbish

Not so much as a peep.

So from here you can see the Royal Albert Bridge. Across a few buildings, suitably lit as they are at night to provide the proper atmosphere and all the rest. Within spitting distance, if you were the sort who was so inclined, and not terribly worried about wetting the mobs of tourists and other sort of things that wander the Kings Road. It may also be considered a nasty habit, that spitting thing, so you might want to refrain. Or not. Depending on how you hold yourself in relation to generally supported social conventions and customs. Maybe you're a bit of a rebel. or going through a rebellious sort of phase. We all do it, or must of us, anyway, so it's probably all right. Or maybe you're just difficult. Or something. Personally, I know it's widely accepted that it's okay to throw out socks with holes in them, but I flaunt societal constraints and conventions by flouting my holey socks. Or don't, but would, if people were in the mood for a social commentary on the bus, which oftentimes they aren't, being in a generally sort of disagreeable musty sort of mood. Or reading a book or chatting on their 'phone. Or maybe staring out the window. I do that a lot, sometimes whilst contemplating my socks, and whether or not now (which is to say, then, as that takes place decidedly in the past tense) would be a good time to express my belief in the unalienable right of holey socks to still attempt, in a noble fashion, to do the job in which they've given so much of their cotton-like goodness in return for very little, honestly. Or maybe talking to a fellow bus-rider. None of which leaps to mind as an ideal moment in which anyone might be particularly receptive to someone taking off their shoes to show their special solidarity with their socks with holes in them.

Maybe you're going for a sort of Wordsworthian "I Walk Alone Amongst Men" (forgivable for the men only sentiment only because he's Bill, the guy who brought us musings about Tintern Abbey and oh so many other things) sentiment, one brought on by spitting, which is different, and sure to set you apart from other people, especially if you've really poor control of where your spit goes, though I'm not entirely sure how spitting in the general direction of a bridge is going to invoke Wordsworth, really. It's all in the matter of your perception, I suppose.

And so you enjoy it, any way you can. And some times it's so much easier than others. It's all enjoyable in certain circumstances, surely.

disclaimer:
So here's hoping Santa Jobs, Uncle Steve gave you everything you wanted for Happy MacWorld (maybe a new lamp...)... we know we're a bit short on cash after the last few, but ah well, right?

Next week we bring you something very very interesting indeed. Gather the kids round.



		archives horoscopes accessories contacts theatre fables home Search Sane: [A Note on My.Netscape.Com]		----- the Exquisite Not so much as a peep. So from here you can see the Royal Albert Bridge. Across a few buildings, suitably lit as they are at night to provide the proper atmosphere and all the rest. Within spitting distance, if you were the sort who was so inclined, and not terribly worried about wetting the mobs of tourists and other sort of things that wander the Kings Road. It may also be considered a nasty habit, that spitting thing, so you might want to refrain. Or not. Depending on how you hold yourself in relation to generally supported social conventions and customs. Maybe you're a bit of a rebel. or going through a rebellious sort of phase. We all do it, or must of us, anyway, so it's probably all right. Or maybe you're just difficult. Or something. Personally, I know it's widely accepted that it's okay to throw out socks with holes in them, but I flaunt societal constraints and conventions by flouting my holey socks. Or don't, but would, if people were in the mood for a social commentary on the bus, which oftentimes they aren't, being in a generally sort of disagreeable musty sort of mood. Or reading a book or chatting on their 'phone. Or maybe staring out the window. I do that a lot, sometimes whilst contemplating my socks, and whether or not now (which is to say, then, as that takes place decidedly in the past tense) would be a good time to express my belief in the unalienable right of holey socks to still attempt, in a noble fashion, to do the job in which they've given so much of their cotton-like goodness in return for very little, honestly. Or maybe talking to a fellow bus-rider. None of which leaps to mind as an ideal moment in which anyone might be particularly receptive to someone taking off their shoes to show their special solidarity with their socks with holes in them. Maybe you're going for a sort of Wordsworthian "I Walk Alone Amongst Men" (forgivable for the men only sentiment only because he's Bill, the guy who brought us musings about Tintern Abbey and oh so many other things) sentiment, one brought on by spitting, which is different, and sure to set you apart from other people, especially if you've really poor control of where your spit goes, though I'm not entirely sure how spitting in the general direction of a bridge is going to invoke Wordsworth, really. It's all in the matter of your perception, I suppose. And so you enjoy it, any way you can. And some times it's so much easier than others. It's all enjoyable in certain circumstances, surely. disclaimer: So here's hoping Santa Jobs, Uncle Steve gave you everything you wanted for Happy MacWorld (maybe a new lamp...)... we know we're a bit short on cash after the last few, but ah well, right? Next week we bring you something very very interesting indeed. Gather the kids round.


now - archives - horoscopes - accessories - theatre - fables - contacts - home