Awaken early, a forced habit. The bathroom, the toilet, saving heating, the temperature is lower than luxury would demand.
Go back to bed, it is saturday morning, there is no need for an early awakening.
Telegrams are out of fashion now, people write in an abbreviated form out of laziness and comfort, and not to save money.
Years ago, we could see the telegram delivery man arriving, on a spanish motorcycle, driving up to the front door, and delivering his telegram.
CONGRATULATIONS+STOP+SUCCESS+AT+LAST+STOP+REGARDS+JOHN.
All the carefully selected words paid for by the letter, the essence of short and sweet.
And then those with condolences, incredible, the man on his Bultaco motor bike, bringer of bad news.
The five year old then did not know that his first motor vehicle would be one of those machines, abandoned by the service. sold as surplus. The telephone came, the motorcycle mounted mesenger disappeared.
Keep this short, for emails with there inane verbosity, assholes pouring their product over each other, is this a major improvement? Does it make people better? Or happier? Thoughtless drivel.
And when the dreams are over, get up with the family, wish them well on their way to the second hand market. There is the secret hope that the young son will not find yet another old computer, a commodore, an Atari, or some such to add to his collection, and to clutter up the available storage space in the attic with all those technical relics requiring restoration.
Like father, so the son.
There are seven old clocks in the house now,
and two are working well, keeping time,
One is working, but has an abstract relationship with world time, fraught with difficulty.
Two stopped working. Those are the two German school clocks.
The rest are all French.
Make coffee, sit down, write these notes.
Time flies
Go back to bed, it is saturday morning, there is no need for an early awakening.
Telegrams are out of fashion now, people write in an abbreviated form out of laziness and comfort, and not to save money.
Years ago, we could see the telegram delivery man arriving, on a spanish motorcycle, driving up to the front door, and delivering his telegram.
CONGRATULATIONS+STOP+SUCCESS+AT+LAST+STOP+REGARDS+JOHN.
All the carefully selected words paid for by the letter, the essence of short and sweet.
And then those with condolences, incredible, the man on his Bultaco motor bike, bringer of bad news.
The five year old then did not know that his first motor vehicle would be one of those machines, abandoned by the service. sold as surplus. The telephone came, the motorcycle mounted mesenger disappeared.
Keep this short, for emails with there inane verbosity, assholes pouring their product over each other, is this a major improvement? Does it make people better? Or happier? Thoughtless drivel.
And when the dreams are over, get up with the family, wish them well on their way to the second hand market. There is the secret hope that the young son will not find yet another old computer, a commodore, an Atari, or some such to add to his collection, and to clutter up the available storage space in the attic with all those technical relics requiring restoration.
Like father, so the son.
There are seven old clocks in the house now,
and two are working well, keeping time,
One is working, but has an abstract relationship with world time, fraught with difficulty.
Two stopped working. Those are the two German school clocks.
The rest are all French.
Make coffee, sit down, write these notes.
Time flies
No comments:
Post a Comment