ANNUAL BLOG-POST 2024
I often feel a wee bit finitude after weekends such as the one that has passed.For me it’s the end of tormented Lent and the beginning of a long period of self-absorption.
But the finish-line is in sight for those indentured in Ramadan.
And for neo-pagans it’s the start of a bacchanalian feast.
A time of fecundity and fertility, way beyond my current pay-grade; ribald excesses now more a disquieting fear, than an inalienable right.
The collective outpouring of unease over the self-appointed monarchy’s ill-health seems to galvanise our free presses, whilst our less fortunate friends & relatives suffer silently, albeit within the same ‘fight’.
The papal paschal rallying cries, and the surefire yet demure sermons of ecclesia anglicana lead us through this period of self-indulgence and added-daylight.
We are prone to rejoicing when fuel bills go down, all the while that water bills and bed & board continue their great ascent.
And regardless of our efforts, ultimate power remains in the hands of those we solicit with unquestioning approbation.
The wars that serve those powers continue in their sustained destruction.
So we put forward clocks in recognition, whilst observing elongated holidays that ask of us little recognition.
We keep calm, we carry on, knowing that we are mainly ineffectual in the face of such horrors, and such absolutism.
But my wheelie bin was emptied as scheduled, and I was part of the process that made it happen.
My cats are both alive, and so am I.
For this I am thankful, so I shall continue on gratefully for the time being.
That finite time of being.
But the finish-line is in sight for those indentured in Ramadan.
And for neo-pagans it’s the start of a bacchanalian feast.
A time of fecundity and fertility, way beyond my current pay-grade; ribald excesses now more a disquieting fear, than an inalienable right.
The collective outpouring of unease over the self-appointed monarchy’s ill-health seems to galvanise our free presses, whilst our less fortunate friends & relatives suffer silently, albeit within the same ‘fight’.
The papal paschal rallying cries, and the surefire yet demure sermons of ecclesia anglicana lead us through this period of self-indulgence and added-daylight.
We are prone to rejoicing when fuel bills go down, all the while that water bills and bed & board continue their great ascent.
And regardless of our efforts, ultimate power remains in the hands of those we solicit with unquestioning approbation.
The wars that serve those powers continue in their sustained destruction.
So we put forward clocks in recognition, whilst observing elongated holidays that ask of us little recognition.
We keep calm, we carry on, knowing that we are mainly ineffectual in the face of such horrors, and such absolutism.
But my wheelie bin was emptied as scheduled, and I was part of the process that made it happen.
My cats are both alive, and so am I.
For this I am thankful, so I shall continue on gratefully for the time being.
That finite time of being.
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