Fairly Fine-Tuned Schedule Wise

It’s the stale argument once again of course, old verbal horse, about that ethnic fairy land and all the dark-brown banksia men seething on their twiggy branches: mere cones with violent hearts. Powerful Aquinas never saw a potato Even a paranoid, wonderful Freud protested can manage enemies but where does that leave the ethnic elves and cobbling tribes of goblins? Darned if I know but I have been socio-trumped through centuries again. The earth’s not cosy any more but suddenly I feel a ravenous need for liberty eating it all without so much as forks or knives, just saying what I want, even telling death I have the whole box & dice under my control, knowing all the inky rules at the very moment of denying the lot of them, shouting like one who’s fully alive as I must confess I am, at least this honeyed afternoon.

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