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From my youth up I never liked the city.
I never forgot the mountains where I was born.
The world caught me and harnessed me
And drove me through dust, thirty years away from home.
Migratory birds return to the same tree.
Fish find their way back to the pools where they were hatched.
I have been over the whole country,
And I have come back at last to the garden of my childhood.
My farm is only ten acres.
The farm house has eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows shade the back garden.
Peach trees stand by the front door.
The village is out of sight.
You can hear dogs bark in the alleys,
And cocks crow in the mulberry trees.
When you come through the gate into the court
You will find no dust or mess.
Peace and quiet live in every room.
I am content to stay here the rest of my life.
At last I have found myself.
— Tao Yuan Ming (Tao Qian) Chinese, 365-427
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It’s a Quebecois Francophone!
A phone *booth*. A booth. Because telephone conversations were once regarded as a private interchange between two people. Now people walk down the street alone, yelling and gesticulating wildly at some phantom voice plugged into their brain. And everyone seems to want to share their one side of a conversation with any and all who happen to be in earshot. Nothing like standing in line at Starbucks in the morning listening to everyone talking to no one you can see. creepy.
JWM
“Nothing like standing in line at Starbucks…”
I did that once, about 10 years ago, at an airport, cause I was bored.
And I seriously needed a mud.
But I got dirt.
A $3 cup of burnt to death dirt.
One sip and then straight into the shitcan.
Not even close to being drinkable.
Prior to that the worst coffee I ever had was still 10X better than that shit.
I just don’t get it, any more.
Any of it.
You know what I mean.
1/2 this planet is out of it’s collective mind.
PA cat: more like a FAGophone.