The Tyger and The Lamb

I didn't really see the moon last night.  No photos.  The sky was clouded.  It rained.  We needed the rain, so the only complaint is that it didn't happen a day earlier or later.  So. . . I reimagined my neighborhood from the 1920s.  The Boulevard had been lit since earlier in the century, and by the '20's, most homes had continuous electric power.  

But there were no drones, so. . . I had to invent it.  

Like all towns now, however, greed runs under the name of "progress" and my little village has become as overcrowded as any other sweet place in the country.  Greeheads will always have their way.  Always.  It may take time, but they will win.  It is the Law of the Land.  

I wasn't in my little village last night, however, but on the outskirts in a neighborhood built in the 1960's at my mother's.  Oh. . . we had a big night--parboiled cod over brown jasmine rice and broccoli.  Where once it appealed to me, last night we both swore off preparing the fish that way.  Afterwards, we went out for a swinging Saturday night at the CVS where my mother bought hair coloring.  

We were back to the house at 7:18.  

For the first time, I thought I really wanted a scotch.  I made a decaf coffee instead and followed it up with copious A.A. cocktails.  I am certain of the benefits of Dry January, but I am equally certain of it's deficits.  I've never strived to be a Ghandi.  

Let's get to Trump World.  Next--Greenland!  Old Bone Spurs sure likes to shoot 'em up, eh?  MAGA meant ALL of the America's as well as things on their borders.  We are living in a testosterone injected, muscled up world inspired by Ultimate Fighting and Taylor Sheridan.  The thing is, we all know it is true--brute force and greed will ALWAYS beat down intellect and sensitivity.  

For a literary look at it, read G.B. Shaw's "Candida."  It's not quite that, but it is a good exploration of a woman's view of something quite similar.  Moral piety, however, replaces testosterone.  Still. . . . 

But we are "trending" in 2026.  Testosterone is out.  Polypeptides are in.  

So is this.

Now EVERYONE can do it!  Maybe you've been DIYing your own for years, but now there is a scientifically formulated pillow . . . 

to turn any woman. . . . 

Like everything else, what was once a dirty little secret is now a social media phenomenon.  

There is a med or a device for everything.  We live in the "Age of Marvels and the Marvelous."

I'm just waiting for the Super Bowl halftime show myself.  

Well. . . this has certainly devolved into a mess of a post, maybe apropos for the End of the Roman Empire.  They were an openly kinky lot, or so the BBC has taught me.  

Maybe I should have had that scotch after all.  My mind wants focussing.  But, you know, I may have lost an ounce or two already.  I still need to work on my VO2 max for longevity, though.  I've heard that is the best way to enjoy the last decade of one's life.  

I should have ended the post with the "Candida" thing.  But I didn't.  Maybe I can end with a song. 

Nope.  I can't find one that I like.  Do you ever get like that?  Do you ever find yourself not liking anything in your music library at all?  

It's just one of those days when little is appealing.  Except drink.  Maybe I am just now experiencing withdrawal.  Psychological, not physical.  

I've been searching for a clip from a Sherlock Holmes/Basil Rathbone film with this dialog in it.  I used to have it, but I can't find it.  It is a fine clip, a good clip, and if you can find it, send me a link.  I miss it so. 

Sherlock Holmes: [on the pajama suicides] Indubidably, these murders are the work of a well-organized gang and directing them is one of the most fiendishly clever minds in all Europe today.

Inspector Lasade: Any notion who?

Sherlock Holmes:: I suspect a woman. Do you have tobacco around this place, Watson?

Dr. Watson: Yes, I've packed it. A woman? You amaze me, Holmes. Why a woman?

Sherlock Holmes: Because the method, whatever it is, is particularly subtle and cruel. Feline, not canine.

Inspector Lasade: Poppy-cock. Canine, feline, quinine, when a bloke does himself in, that's suicide.

Sherlock Holmes: Unless the bloke is driven to suicide and then in that case it's murder.

Dr. Watson: Driven? That *sounds* like a woman, doesn't it?

Sherlock Holmes: Definitely, a female Moriarty. Clever, ruthless... and above all, cautious.

And, FYI. . . all the old Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes films are available for free on YouTube.  I've watched them all, and I'd recommend them. . . if you have Premium and don't have to watch any commercials.