Expelling Tolu. (The slings and arrows phase)

 

Letting go of B #professional lines

 

Saturday morning blocked transfer.

 “It’s that you are disliked by someone. It is proof that you are exercising your freedom and living in freedom, and a sign that you are living in accordance with your own principles.”

“No matter what has occurred in your life up to this point, it should have no bearing at all on how you live from now on.’ That you, living in the here and now, are the one who determines your own life.”

“Your life is not something that someone gives you, but something you choose yourself, and you are the one who decides how you live.”

“All you can do in regard to your own life is choose the best path that you believe in.”

“But as long as one continues to use one’s misfortune to one’s advantage in order to be ‘special’, one will always need that misfortune.”

Bad coke.

 

The house keeper.

The fire of the night has burned through in dark momentum; even as old ashes of fragmented grey lie half burned upon the hearth. Moving slowly She lights a lamp, the old house, quiet. Cold is in the air, her breath white like lace, even as the others sleep, in the comfort of upper levels of panelled stillness, quiet with the silence of vaulted warm mahogany. In this half light,,, beyond the flicker of the candle in her hand. She will peer out on to the day,to slow rising light drifting across the great frosted expanse of park- a whiteness like a shroud Stretching out to the old folded boundaries of the gate house that keep the world away. Reining in the old ghosts, she thinks. The ghosts that cannot move and cannot play. She shivers, as she pulls the heavy mantel to her.

It will soon be time to wake them, The small children in the nursery, stained with red wracks of ruin, moving slowly over rosy cheeks, and perfect Gold of curls that tuck under crimson sheets. soon the crow will sing. It has been a long night. She takes the candle, and lays it on the long mahogany of the great table; empty seats long since vacated, places where the family have been. Beside it she will places the empty jar of cyanide, setting it before the slow flickering flame that moves around with the attendant shadow. For a moment she will sit in the last of it, waiting for those that have crossed the veil to begin. MB

Weekend crumbler..

 Vaxxie, Vaxxie, Heart Attacksie

by W. B. Yikes

Vaxxer, Vaxxer, so obsessed.

Wore your mask and took your tests.

Still got Covid. Every strain.

Spike proteins inside your brain.

Short of breath at twenty four.

"Dr Fauci, give me more!"

Proteins tangle and misfold.

Myocarditis taking hold.

Swollen heart at twenty five.

"Thank Moderna, I'm alive!"

But there's no cure for the micro-clot.

Getting worse with every shot.

Heart attack at twenty six.

Prayed to Pfizer for a fix.

Vaxxer, vaxxer. Death is lurking.

Doctor says: "That means it's working."

Died of SADS at twenty seven.

All good vaxxers go to heaven.

Obituary headline noted:

"Anti-vaxxer dies of Covid."

His family are "Quite upset".

But they're alive. At least, as yet.

And, they say: "It's for the better.

"Without the vax, he would be deader."

Saturday discombob..

 

Black pandy one