My brains meet a real challenge reading your musings. I'm proven not that bright as I often spend 15 minutes reading your post, researching stuff I haven't seen before for an hour, and then read your post again and at times I still don't fully grasp what you were trying to say. Read again, wait, ..what I miss? This is सुख stuff and keeps me coming back for more. Don't underestimate yourself.
Edit: I forgot to add "please" at the end.
Order or request received. (Thank you)
Mission accomplished. Over.
(Clear enough?)
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I'm not sure. I neither ordered nor requested being quite happy with the status quo. It was a compliment in case you didn't get that.
Sorry if it came across as anything else.
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Not at all! It totally came across as intended! And was - as per ususal- taken as a much needed dietary supplement.
The whole world being out here makes for a very long period of discovery - who is from where, what background, what motives, what intent, what tone. I discovered well into round one already that you are a sensitive soul, who has no bite (the growl suffices). In round two it became clear you had assumed the same about me and now in round three I take liberties. Apologies. I don't let you catch your breath. I was rushing ahead with a new scene for you to decode. May we pause then to underscore, I take no defensive tone with you, for I could never feel attacked by you. That is a decision I have made a while back already.
I fear I might have been too cryptic, though. But I've been dipping into cryptocurrency affairs, trying and failing to come to terms with it.
I was taking in the view standing shoulder to shoulder on the dock of the bay, looking at your battered boat, being rather sarcastic about the status quo. I don't like what it must be doing to you also in the real world. Even if it isn't doing anything of any import, it's like you say, more than annoying.
I was juxtaposing my florid work with a curt reply: the style you make an considered effort for set off againist what would be preferred by most simple souls. Simple. Short. To the point. Communication is little more, nowadays. Of course, I hadn't missed the "please" without it edited in. I thought you would realise we had passed polite, non-committal; therefore I assumed a modicum of irony in the after thought; and I reciprocated thus, if in bolder print; meaning to point out that your close reading is remarkable (even to me, I am still thinking about what this means) and unparallelled. As if you ever could be blunt to me, and even if you are, I'd dig deeper to read what you are really saying.
On this dock where I work much like the immigrant in Coetzee's "Childhood of Jesus" (odd book: does it work, does it not?) I sometimes get knocked into the water, half drown, recuperate and carry on like a military woman or a crusader, a trooper, a Mary Seacole. You hand me a towel, and give me a "chin up". Only I know too well how endeared I am.
As in all harbours the going is very rough here. You need a lot of callous on the heart. You have some, I have some and so we get a day's work done. Harbours make for seedy places where the seedless may not even belong. But hey, here we are seeded and all. I may have had a former life that depended on harbours. I can imagine if I were me (as a boy) 200 years ago, I would have taken to the seas to keep the chimera alive that there are better places. There are things traded beneath the surface interesting enough to have brought me here; it is all part of the work and you know how I love to work.
The irony, the sarcasm, the dismay is never for you. It is for a world that pretends to be happy with its mango-eaters, Wednesday walkers, smooth operators and (debatably) bombshell models. It means to armour against the scouring money and burdensome debt and the waste of time made actually for the things we need as human creatures, not the things death wants for supper.
I do realise - and hence fall ever into lengthier prose - that it is a never ending challenge to communicate efficiently (without causing confusion or upset) with the very limited means we have in any form of communication. Written messages are the worst. It has been a difficult life for me ever since letters (epistles) went out of fashion. Two or three life times ago,I suppose, when we still wrote for the passage of time, letters that we hoped would survive in the hull from here to the Indes. But in trust, with you, I commune.
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You've spoiled me so it was a bit like a shot in the dark with no muzzle flash to see where it came from. The way sound travels in the woods is deceptive, but shame on me, I should have known better. I do now :)
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muzzle flash (now here is me looking something up) = something that tells me YOU might be someone who WOULD know what to do with a grenade under the bed!....
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You have options actually.
You can run, if you are willing to give up the comfort of your warm bed.
You can toss it through a window (and I mean through), if you are willing to live with the cold air streaming in.
You can do nothing, if you are willing to find out if it will go off or not.
I know nothing about the condition of that grenade under your bed, but if the pin was still in it, I would lay down and go to sleep and worry about it later.
Military service was still mandatory in the 80's. My forbidden knowledge of explosives and such provided by the very entity that forbids it.
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The grenade is fortunately not (yet) under my bed as the blog liked so much by all our big friends explains. Forget which one (it was in Czeslaw Miloscz's novel, which caused a whale to pick it up, or so he deftly found a good reason).
The cold air would already be streaming in - that's how it got under the bed, and furthermore, how the boy realised something might have been tossed in the first place. He woke up wondering about that draught of cold air. .... now I come to think of it, there might ! even be a grenade under my bed !- referring to no.24 in self same blog - and would I ever know, if it's one that failed to go off? In the summer with all the windows open anyway... I think my concern was more: what are the chances of stirring it to go off as yet? Will a creaking floorboard suffice (when running away) let alone handling it?
Hope you haven't had to find out in a practical class in the military, like we had to discover what phosphorous or magnesium does in a chemistry class.
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One could argue that only finding out that it didn't go off actually matters. If an open window provides entry, any action will likely come too late, but is hardly an excuse to not try and return to sender as undesirable. I remember your post, but not verbatim, so I'll have to read about 24 again. Hand grenades won't go off just by dropping it, it will have to be ignited, and when ignition fails, it's about as effective as a brick.
I had an easy time in the Military, as a truck driver I didn't have to sleep in the mud, and the shorter, lighter sub-machine guns we carried were easy on the back. NBC training was a different matter, tear gas filled chambers are no fun, but being familiar with scuba gear did give me an edge.
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