Here’s another blog that I follow… although we mostly tweet each other on a daily basis. We regard each other as dear “Twitter friends,” who hope to meet in “real life” one day. He is extremely brainy, reads voraciously, has a cat, loves very cold weather and is an Arsenal (and Mesut Ozil) fan. I can only relate to the Arsenal part, quite frankly; I am not as well read as he is. But somehow, he puts up with me… Sending love to B, via my blog!
Last autumn, my mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas. There were the obvious things, those I can never have enough of — certain books (that I will read; understand, it’s just a matter of place in the queue… and the queue never in its meaning must end, never ends), another Arsenal shirt of course (the ’17-’18 alts are really badass), but otherwise I really couldn’t think of a thing I actually wanted. An end to inequality, universal healthcare, free education, an end to wars we never should have begun to fight? A boyfriend? Hope?
One does not ask for those things, my Protestant superego responds; they are granted. To whom? I dare to ask. Not your lot, I’m told… take a drag, toss it in a mucky ditch brimming with seventies’ filth — the burnt ends of toasted times, of garret-grey hypnotic crimes, all to pass, a-ha, at…
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