Obligatory "ignore this space" : https://sacoronavirus.co.za

Some of us find ourselves typefied by a song which refers to an ordinary world. I would say, generally speaking, this doesn't apply to girls who are looking to become mothers, for the ordinary advice of hard work, diligence, and so on--in my experience--has meant that they've been able to do the ordinary thing of having a family, which if not ordinary must take us back to Genesis, and get us to blame every person who has a child for the fall of man.

And Genesis does not refer to the ordinary world.

We were quite literally taught that sex sells, but the reference was to the using of that which brings us to contemplate sex to sell something, for example using a young model to pose on a new model. But it also referred to the shape of things. A rounded bumper made to look like a lip, they said, got some people helplessly signing a deal.

To compete, then, every made thing had to look like a doll; every maker look at one; which is to say, to look to anatomy for inspiration; or the maker is folding its arms and giving up the game.

Sex sells itself. Our wonder at what it is brings forth more people to wonder. And our memory is limited. Pleasant things to contemplate can mean we forget how many things were called a speedo.

The only ordinary world I can find is the one that was there before we started school. But things have changed. In those days our car, which was of a shape we are generally not allowed to call a car, but functionally it is no different, had a digital speedo that came from a hobby shop. Don't ask me how it worked, because when cars themselves no longer ran on magic, hobby equipment like that no longer existed.

But this reminds me that I played policeman to Mom, which brings me to contemplate unwritten laws.

For it was but for her to tell me right from wrong.

Of course, I didn't get blamed for speeding fines, but this is why I recall the speedo.

Seat belts annoyed those to whom they seemed unnecessary, who argued that they were there for people who hadn't learnt right from wrong, and more so, were not going to learn what a public space is.

But, then, where's the fun in driving if we can't say pedestrians must stay off the tarmac?

In the mean time, Dad and I are taxed to recall every microsecond of our lives. The digital speedo, which worked in a way which made it a marvel, but only updated every second or two, came from the kind of hobby shop which no longer exists. On the one hand, our recollection is doubted that it was indeed a marvel; on the other, people are constantly looking for evidence of witchcraft in technology.

Beyond the horizon, of the place we lived when we were young: in a world of magnets and miracles. Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary; the ringing of the division bell had begun.

But with the speedo, unlike other things with digital readouts, the hobbyist was encouraged to do their own testing.

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