The old ‘three strikes and you’re out’ adage seemed to
apply with a vengeance this past week & I wasn’t keen
to keep count; but in the event it didn’t amount to if you
err again you lose the keys, similar in a sense - but yet
freed of the hammer that invariably meant; so we’re no
angels yet the virtual halo’s aura stays intact and we’re
still on speaking terms with ‘authorities’ penchant, they
redact simplicity and casually implement chaos in lieu
The Ute survived its ignition conniptions bravely, worry
is it won’t play that game kindly again, and the satellite
broadband connection forgave hazy protocols I’d lazily
assumed were within vapid span of its attention - I beg
pardon - see the error of my ways; but amazingly, if its
implied isolation that drove us crazy by these, then we
Survived a Rorschach test; we’re still bravely seeing a
future of being free to commute - as well as able to be
party to any mooted ethernet event; and I can play my
poetical anomie no-less contentedly, miss the stressful
heart-ache of plagiarised outrage not being singled out
for a taste of amazing notoriety in becoming my age
© 19 May 2015, I. D. Carswell
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