Tipped from pot luck, it seems you were, possibly from pot ‘bad luck’, as falling hitherward from high, I see you are. A fleeting descent. Use its moment to look down and meet the mire that waits to greet you. Feel its momentum slam you down—slap you into the slop. A silted, muddied, water’s edge bescrawled with the swirls, curls and twists of a wet stick. One such once held by an aspirant artisan. Those scrawls are script; the inaugural writings of this maundering blog. Plonked purposely here in the unexplored slime-some backend of the web’s nowhere and intended to be paid no mind in the hardest currency of all—pure ignorance. Leave space to mull a little though, let that ignorance be a shade impure; permit yourself a second’s thought for
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I’m a devotee and dabbler in the art of wordplay, ‘word-smithery’ and calculated codswallop—yes calculated codswallop I’ll call it; inwardly enthusiastic but outwardly cowardly. A reluctancy to bare this interest see. Here, in a place most don’t condone, I can don a diaphanous veil of anonymity; no shrouding cloak nor dirksome dagger, just the true me, with a modicum of mystery. Here to embrace my enthusiasm, have some antics with semantics, be more blatant with what’s latent and reel out lines of long-winded twittery—sheesh, this blather could be a rap with the last phoneme being an ‘iː’ (psst, it’s quite soberly pronounced ‘ee’). Exasperation creeping in here re. the twittering being unwittingly the last thing I want it to be! Obscuring meaning with complexity. Dr. Suess and ally Eminem now I’m considering are invading …show more content…
And that course shall hold no rat race, be gone ‘water rats’ I command, burrow into some other banks—have tea with the moles and the voles. And that course shall be looked upon by no deriding stern-eyed spectator, be gone ‘youse’ of derisive disdain I instruct—go frown at some other’s muddled flapdoodle. And the disinterested too: be they family, friends, cohorts, colleagues or strangers. I apologise but please shy from this domain, t’will appear to be but a makeshift muddy morass of words and whiteboard doodlings to you I’m sure. I insist, waste no time nor space to muse over its
I’m a devotee and dabbler in the art of wordplay, ‘word-smithery’ and calculated codswallop—yes calculated codswallop I’ll call it; inwardly enthusiastic but outwardly cowardly. A reluctancy to bare this interest see. Here, in a place most don’t condone, I can don a diaphanous veil of anonymity; no shrouding cloak nor dirksome dagger, just the true me, with a modicum of mystery. Here to embrace my enthusiasm, have some antics with semantics, be more blatant with what’s latent and reel out lines of long-winded twittery—sheesh, this blather could be a rap with the last phoneme being an ‘iː’ (psst, it’s quite soberly pronounced ‘ee’). Exasperation creeping in here re. the twittering being unwittingly the last thing I want it to be! Obscuring meaning with complexity. Dr. Suess and ally Eminem now I’m considering are invading …show more content…
And that course shall hold no rat race, be gone ‘water rats’ I command, burrow into some other banks—have tea with the moles and the voles. And that course shall be looked upon by no deriding stern-eyed spectator, be gone ‘youse’ of derisive disdain I instruct—go frown at some other’s muddled flapdoodle. And the disinterested too: be they family, friends, cohorts, colleagues or strangers. I apologise but please shy from this domain, t’will appear to be but a makeshift muddy morass of words and whiteboard doodlings to you I’m sure. I insist, waste no time nor space to muse over its