Just Because Life's Meaningless Doesn't Mean We

The First Thing To Say About Eve Is That She Was A Big Improvement On The Adam Design, Or That Adam Was An Extremely Misguided Variation On The Eve Design. (consider Testicles. Two Concentrated Nuclei Of Absolute Vulnerability. Where? Dangling Between The Legs. I Rest My Case.)

We Go To The Past To Lay The Blame - Since The Past Can't Argue. We Go To Our Past Selves To Account For Our Present Miseries.

There’s A Reason Humans Peg-out Around Eighty: Prose Fatigue. It Looks Like Organ Failure Or Cancer Or Stroke But It’s Really Just The Inability To Carry On Clambering Through The Assault Course Of Mundane Cause And Effect. If We Ask Sheila Then We Can’t Ask Ron. If I Have The Kippers Now Then It’s Quiche For Tea. Four Score Years Is About All The Ifs And Thens You Can Take. Dementia’s The Sane Realisation You Just Can’t Be Doing With All That Anymore.

Only Meaning Can Make A Difference And We All Know There's No Meaning. All Stories Express A Desire For Meaning, Not Meaning Itself. Therefore Any Difference Knowing The Story Makes Is A Delusion.

One Day The Ordinariness Will Be Terminally Punctuated By The Extraordinary Full Stop Of Death.