It is a whirlwind in here


January 2021

Looking In The Mirror And Out


The image in the mirror is my hero.

Who can blame me?

Were it not for his outstanding modesty

which leads the list of attributes,

I would first say it is his erudite demeanour,

and suave sophistication,

which make the most impression.

A stellar raconteur and bon vivant,

he sweeps others in his path,

where they are happy to follow.

Genius is a word too oft tossed about,

but it is a pale word to describe

the breadth,

and depth,

of his knowledge and creativity.

The man in the mirror

pulsates with understanding,

and the ability to make connections

between the most diverse

(and sometimes divergent)

of ideas.

His observations are a breath of fresh air in the firmament.

I have learned so much

from the man in the mirror,

and desire so

to bask in his consummate revelations

of life and art,

that I strive to be in his presence.

My ears ache to hear the pearls of wisdom he is oft to toss.

To be in the same room with him is life itself.

The man in the mirror is indeed a hero to emulate.

How many of us can say that about anyone?


Alison Alexandra Ponders Whilst Under The English Channel

The London platform is abustle, though, in reality, she is boarding a train to take her to a train waiting in Calais. Still, it is under the umbrella of the Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express, and she is happy to board and take a very cushy seat.

Two hours and fifteen minutes to Paris. Nice scenery at either end. A glass of Bellini, in a champagne flute, before the actual undersea part. Nothing could be finer.

Alison Alexandra assumes that a quaff of peach infused Prosecco sparkling wine is to ease the anxiety of anyone going not only underground but also undersea. She appreciates the glass of – expectedly – high-toned champagne regardless, but she does not need a drink to assuage any fears, for she has none.

She has always enjoyed the thought of actually moving under streets and buildings and cars and people and parks and dogs and folk in restaurants spooning soup while other folk high up in business towers give power point presentations about the fluidity of market shares or the expert way to niggle a wire into an explicate brain to stop one form of behaviour or to restart another. Thousands of snips of humanity and civilisation wending their way over her head as she wends her way from one underground station to another.

And then – to add the volume of the sea – well, what now floats overhead? How many fish and how much plankton and seaweed and eels and lobsters and oysters and snails and perhaps even whales swimming and eating and probably eating each other in the liquid beauty which is the water which is the ocean which is the sea that slaps against the cliffs that she watches from her prow-of-a-ship windows when she is on the other side.

And the ocean that slaps the rocks at the base of her cliff is full of fish gurgle and whale song and lobster clatter and crab scuttle and perhaps even the mermaids singing. And then there is the screw screw screw of all the propellers of all the ships carrying crew and passengers and cargo of all sorts and conditions, from cases of the champagne she is drinking to the host of automobiles like the Black Ghost that Gabriella drove when she shared some champagne delivered by ship and not aged on the delivery truck two cities over.

And other cargo, floating and steaming over her head, food and drink and oil and bourbon and stiletto-heeled shoes and prayer books and cotton and smart phones and insulin and jet engines and books and railway ties and sheep dip and textiles and spices from the Far east and tongue dispensers and sugar and steel beams for steel bridges and fishhooks and guided missiles and holy missals and buttons and bows and those tiny umbrellas for fruit punch cocktails and things that Alison Alexandra doesn’t even know exists but she has her suspicions.

All over her head and moving the waves and making whales sing their cautionary songs to warn other whales to get the hell out of the way or they will get bumped on their noggin. And they do. Get out of the way.

Alison Alexandra finishes her underwater pilgrimage and pops above ground in France. And although Alison Alexandra has been somewhat offended by having to take an actual bus shuttle under the actual English Channel, she still shouts “Alors!”


Our Fearful Trip Is Done


– just to be clear –

the ignorant,

representative of

the United States

is removed.


of the
*vast* celebrations

is a


and brilliant


A pretty good balance.

Biden and Harris have earned
their night’s sleep.

I’ll take the future for its weight in gold, Alex.



Trump And MAGA Walk Into A Bar For The Last Time


~ So, how you good old boys doing?

~ There’s a problem, Mr. President.

~ Some of you boys did me proud – Har-de-Har.

~ We’d say it’s a big problem.

~ ‘Big’ problem?

~ A hugely problem – Har-de-Har.

~  Now, I’m kinda busy.

~ Taking the silverware?

~ And the china.

~ Well, there’s a start – about China.

~ They started the killer flu.

~ And that’s another thing.

~ Eating bats – do you know they eat bats?

~  You’ve killed 400,000 from the flu.

~  That’s just that Fake News.

~ We’re burying our families. It ain’t fake.

~ Everyone catches the flu.

~ You said you’d do right by us.

~ Blame Biden, he stole the election.

~ Then he didn’t have time to kill Americans.

~ Well  , , , give him time.

~ We gave you time – look where it got us.

~ I’ll be back. 2024! 2024!

~ How often do you think you can fool us?

~  And Ivanka can follow me. 2028!

~ Donald, you’re a dumb prick in a stupid tie.

~ Clean your mouth. I’m the president.

~ Not no more. “No more years!”

~ Dumb pussies – I’ve got a plane to catch.

~ After we get our hat back.


Trump And Kim Jong-un Walk Into A Bar In North Korea

~ Kimmy – thanks for having me.
~ I know I extended an invitation, but …
~ And the family.
~ It was just for a visit . . .
~ And my closest sycophants.
~ But that was when you were somebody.
~ We just need a place to stay – for a few years.
~ Melania’s already heading back to Slovenia.
~ Not my darling!
~ She says she has family – real family.
~ Who will iron my shorts?
~ Oh, your job comes with an iron.
~ As door man at our finest hotel.
~ Job!
~ We understand you have hotel experience.
~ I own . . .
~ Owned – all property of our citizens belong to our State.
~ That sounds like Communism.
~ And, as for the kids – they’re leaving with mommy.
~ She’s not their real mummy.
~ Funny – she says you’re not their real daddy.
~ But who’ll be left to listen to my stories?
~ That’s what happens when all your stories are lies.
~ But I’m the most powerful man in the world.
~ Must I be the one to tell you?
~ What?
~ You’ve been fired.


This Is A Test, Isn’t It?

This is a test.
Isn’t the answer always to be 32?
Or is that 97?
I’d prefer 69
But that’s naughty
(or can be).
And there are other answers
That should always work.
These three should answer any question to any test.
This is a test, isn’t it?
Life is a wonderful answer,
As is the middle of ‘life’
Some think Trump is the answer
To every test
Others thought Hitler was the answer
To the question
Of the test.
Seems they are wrong.
Personally, I think
Franz Kafka is the answer
Leonard Cohen has all the answers.
To the test.
I must accept
That the answer
To the test
[Image] www.

Trump And Hitler Walk Into A Bar


~ Dolf – may I call you Dolf?
~ All my friends do.
~ Dolf!
~ What can I do for you, Don?
~ I am gefooked!
~ That you are.
~Any advice?
~ A weekend at Camp David.
~ That will help?
~ Pretend it’s The Wolf’s Lair.
~ Liar?
~ Close enough.
~ How do I get out of this?
~ Well – I killed myself.
~ That’s what my other friends say.
~ My friends died with me – you know, the real ones.
~ Fat chance of that.
~ Well, you went out with a whimper – not a bang.
~ I thought they’d rise up – take the country.
~ You never gave them anything – not even a Wall.
~ There was never any money in it.
~ At least I gave my people the Volkswagen.
~ Is that how you made your money?
~ No, I got all my money from the book I wrote.
~ Best seller?
~ Ja! Every household had to have one.
~ Maybe I can …
~ Nein – it’s no good for you.
~ Why?
~ Your followers can’t read.

A List Of The Ways We Broke The Bed


We were having a fencing match with turkey drumsticks
We were attempting to make a tent with the bedclothes using an experimental pole
We were trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel
We were wondering if there was anyone else under the covers
We were playing ‘scissor / rock / paper’ with our feet
We wondered as we wandered just a little to far
We attempted to prove the angle of an isosceles triangle
One of us was the boat, the other an outboard motor
We were trying to checkmate each other
We were trying to take a cork out of a wine bottle
We were practising the cancan
We had an unfortunate incident with a hot pizza
We were trying to count to a thousand on our toes
We were lip syncing to Bohemian Rhapsody
We were laughing our darn fool heads off at knock knock jokes
We attempted to ride the stallion
We tried that one again
(image) https: //

Is The New Year In A Pandemic The Time To Change Your Ways?

From my novel in its five year progress, There Was A Time, Oh Pilgrim, When The Stones Were Not So Smooth.

Alison Alexandra sometimes thinks of turning over a new leaf.

Sometimes at the most traditional of times, like at New Year or her birthday or under a full moon or when the tide is at its highest.

But then she remembers that well into her pre-teen years she thought the expression to turn over a new leaf meant reaching into the branches of a tree and flipping her wrist (somewhat like Amanda does when cutting cards) and when she found out the flip flip flipping concerned paper pages she was so bored she never did it. No, not once.

And anyway, why would she overturn anything in some sort of orderly fashion when she pell-mell turns things over at the very time they seem that they need to be overturned and not a minute or an hour or a full moon or one leaf later.

That now is indeed now is, indeed, now and as she daily finds out from her windows or cliffs overlooking the ocean; tide and time await no Alison Alexandra. So she will not wait for them.

Alison Alexandra has often thought – and she also often thinks – that she could happily turn over all her leaves just from her prow-of-a-ship room jutting into the sea or the cliffs that, as yet, do not erode under her feet as she walks them looking out to sea.

But that would be unwise and probably as stagnant as a rotting fish that sometimes lodges itself at the base of her cliff and though she has not traveled as often as those sailors and their spyglasses, she has traveled as far as many of them just to keep those leaves flip flip flipping.

So, today she is going to walk to town.


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