The thought of leaving, if we've moved before, is the thought of returning. Unless we have fallen into a nomadic ways, that is: it has been noted as a curious coincidence that descendents of one nicknamed Gipsey, who was Polish by descent, moved almost once a year on average for twenty years of their lives. Staying in one place for too long is a fact: this is the amount of time that must elapse before a person begins to reject all suggestions to moving that don't come with a golden bridge.
Placing myself on such a bridge, that was merely a device in a war, which no-one seems to be using, my fancy suggests that either end is a matter of inconveniencing more than myself.
Calling a spade a fucking shovel, I'm now sitting on a golden fence. But there is a countdown going on, so while I'm here I'll certainly be calling a shovel a fucking engraving tool. Living in different places to see how I like them, besides requiring us to distinguish ourselves amongst our peers if we weren't born with diamond earrings, is to forget that I have powers of recollection; for we don't need to live in a place to know that the situation of a house can change a hill. This is most noticeable when we look at the same hill from a house that is built on the principle that all hills are the same.
If all architects are building on the principle that if you've seen one hill you've seen them all, then flat-earthers and marble-earthers seem not to have noticed the egg-box world their architect believed in.
From architects with little interest in cartography we take a peek at town planners who started the job by expressing their creativity on a piece of paper. Such can only be the explanation for a town which lengthens everyone's home-journey so as to avoid the having of out-skirts, and in so doing leaves a significant amount of property unused. The people born in the town are helpless to the feeling that there must be some sense, which they must continue to do for no town planner exists who can rectify the problem. Town planners were made obsolete and the government created jobs by putting people in front of computer screens.
Thus one end of the bridge shows a power struggle that is evidenced in ugly neighbourhoods. The other end I only have second-hand information of.
The power problems in South Africa are two-fold. Lack of town-planning means it's up to the suppliers of power to follow demand (doing this equitably, for a politician who sees his position of power as having been obtained through a training institute, would first require him to see that his introduction into politics was a corrupt one). Then, the decision makers only know enough to know what other people are doing.
But culture is not suitably applied to what is actually race. Power being out of the hands is the ideal position for a satirist. And I am the King of South Africa.
But I rather like the idea of a home away from home.
It's nice to have fond memories: it's nicer to have a selective memory.