A few days ago I read an article which has disappeared into the bowels of IT. That’s how things are on the WWW. It’s a bit like flipping through a phone book after the imbibing of a couple and not only not remembering the page number but also what you had actually read. I get this more and more. No sooner have I read a fascinating unforgettable bit of essential trivia and even before taking leave of my chair, it has already gone or in a Dali Watch meltdown.
I have told my wife to take a good grip on me. I am losing it. Oh, now I remember what it was that took my inattention. Something about bombing and the futility of it. Someone pointed out that;
We not only fight our enemies in Iraq and Syria but also our allies and friends.
The situation gets more and more complicated as time goes by.
Get again a bit closer now and écoutez carefullement svp.
We don’t like Isis, but Isis is supported by Saudi Arabia who are our friends. We don’t like president Assad and support the fight against him in Syria. So does Isis who we don’t like. We don’t like Iran but Iran supports Iraqi government against Isis. We support Iraq in fighting Isis but not others such as Iran who also fight Isis. Isis must only be killed by our friends but not by our enemies.
Some of our friends support our enemies and some of our enemies support our enemies. Some of our enemies support our friends. Some enemies are fighting against enemies that are also (at time) our friends. Some want our enemies to win while some of our enemies want our enemies to win depending on who is enemy or friend.
Our best friends are or were also our enemies and vice versa.
Hope this clears it up.
Or, someone better grounded in logic could sum it up thus: Our friends and enemies are one. They are us. I now surmise but ask; are we really bombing ourselves?
Does that make sense?
Or have I fuckcen flipped?
Should I just concentrate on growing Foxgloves.(Foxglove poisoning usually occurs from sucking the flowers or eating the seeds, stems, or leaves of the foxglove plant.)
Foxgloves by Mary Webb.
“The foxglove bells, with lolling tongue,
Will not reveal what peals were rung
In Faery, A thousand ages gone.
All the golden clappers hang
As if but now the changes rang;
Only from the mottled throat Never any echoes float.
Quite forgotten, in the wood,
Pale, crowded steeples rise;
All the time that they have stood
None has heard their melodies.
Deep, deep in wizardry
All the foxglove belfries stand.
Should they startle over the land,
None would know what bells they be.
Never any wind can ring them,
Nor the great black bees that swing them
Every crimson bell, down-slanted,
Is so utterly enchanted. –