Article by Ey@el

Original en français

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This is what I call a great summer! We could almost take out the down jackets and sit by the fire, sipping grogs. Meanwhile, buzzing in the background like some TV accidentally (or deliberately?) left on, the same bugging old refrain of those who haven't figured out yet how to get their head out of the hole (yep, that same hole you're all thinking of, but which I won't name), and still will come out with some preposterous ready-made explanation, arguing — with no idea nor making the effort or even willing to hear the actual source of your information at odds with their own wrong sense of rotation — that you're a real sucker, that “you can't believe anything you read on the Internet” (sic) blah blah blah, forcing words in your mouth and disinformation in your head. When you can't talk about the weather as a mere courtesy to keep a mock conversation going without sparking a nuclear disaster, where does it all end?

In short, kettles haven't heard the last of black pots, making fun of them like Raving Rabbids high on chemtrails who couldn't find the way out of their own burrow. Quite normal, you might say, since mirror reflections are all inverted. All the same, the lining of their silver seriously lacks shine — blame it on pollution.

Okay, I'm a carp (carpe diem!). I'm a tomb. Gobble Google baby, gobbling the hook, the rod, and the fisher. Guess the lure was packed with magic shrooms for I got my thermostat all messed, really can't tell the freezer from the oven now. When it comes up to absolute zero, better not mix'em all up Kelvins for Farenheits or Celsiuses, huh!

Let's move on from Grumpy, Dopey, Care Bear, and all of them narcoleptic gang of garden gnomes (for degnoming, please, refer to the Weasleys' instructions in Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows). So unwilling to comply anymore with the dictates of some ever-so erratic, kinky weather, I, “Wild Rosie Joan, villain-buster of the fachosphere” (dixit some hillarious self-confessed Zionist and white knight of Marine, daughter of Jean-Marie, on Twitter), finally decided to go against the drizzle and the grey and take a walk in the wild.

Let's take a walk in the woods
While the wolf is away.
If the wolf was there,
He'd eat us,
But since he's not there,
He won't eat us.

~ French nursery rhyme

Well, haven't met the wolf — probably too busy tending to his heartburn for eating too many GMO of those red riding hoods — but instead came across, perhaps not in that order: hardly anybody, cats, dogs, coypus, aliens (without idiophones), nettles, brambles galore, acorns, slackers, wild berries (strawberries, blackberries, red, blank and/or ripe), piles of plastic waste, pathways covered with yellow foliage, and... barbed-wire.

How's that “Private property, no trespassing”? Visual reminder of the opening scene of Hunger Games for those who have seen this movie. Creepy outlook...

I keep the wolf from the door,
But he calls me up,
Calls me on the phone,
Tells me all the ways
That he's gonna mess me up,
Steal all my children
If I don't pay the ransom.

"A Wolf At The Door", Radiohead (2003)

So let's get out of the woods before darkness comes and force the wolf out into the open!

Ey@el

#Polaroid Android