THE BLOG OF DISQUIET :Qweir Notions,an uncommonplace-book from the Armpit of Diogenes, binge-thinker jottings since2008.
Thursday, 16 June 2011
Someone left
a tatty potted shrub upon my future grave - in the farthest, shadiest corner of the graveyard, next to the back gate which leads into the forest. I don't know what to make of this gift, but I passed it on.
I have a grave in Saint-Antonin overlooking the river in the event that I die in France. If I die in Ireland, I have an acre of badger-thicket where I have planted many trees, and where I can rot splendidly alone.
Why are you making so difficult for the foreigners ?
If you go before me, Deena insists on a visit. We will fly The Angels of Ireland since they allow German Shepards. Forgive us, but what a fuck is "badger-thicket?" We must know. Otherwise, we may be weeping in the wrong part of Ireland.
Well, a thicket is a tangly place that is difficult to get into or through, and this one is home to badgers who have built great mounds over a metre high. Foxes also may be living there.
3 comments:
I have a grave in Saint-Antonin overlooking the river in the event that I die in France.
If I die in Ireland, I have an acre of badger-thicket where I have planted many trees, and where I can rot splendidly alone.
Why are you making so difficult for the foreigners ?
If you go before me, Deena insists on a visit. We will fly The Angels of Ireland since they allow German Shepards.
Forgive us, but what a fuck is "badger-thicket?"
We must know.
Otherwise, we may be weeping in the wrong part of Ireland.
Well, a thicket is a tangly place that is difficult to get into or through, and this one is home to badgers who have built great mounds over a metre high. Foxes also may be living there.
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