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

A township--that is, one formed by squatters--is something we all aught to contemplate. Living as we are in a great globe-encircling township, some think they aught to contemplate it experimentally--which I might say is necessary if others refuse to follow your thoughts. The first thing a modern township decides on unanimously is where to put the discarded plastic; secondly we try our best to see to the animal needs. Finally, a spot is chosen whereat to get drunk.

"Black or white: which one is right?"

In the worst kinds of townships these drinking holes have rules which forbid us from talking about the dump.

I need to reiterate something I said to someone in a dream before I go on to write about telepathy: a town got turned into a dump. The residents are not guiltless. What do we do when we get out of bed?

The problem with the residents of a township is that they'd like to hear what they might call their village, being talked about the world over. The problem with hindsight is that we can then pin-point guilty parties. Instead of making sure the local clothing store can compete, the villagers take to singing the praises of one of them that went global: "one of our own was a globalist!

"But let's not call it that; let's call it international!"

If the business-person was a woman, our pride knows no bounds: there's another thing English people are to blame for: thinking that women can't be corrupt. Not to put people off their lunch, my own flesh and blood has an example in their hands of what happens to those who don't toe the line.

When I get up in the morning, whatever clothing happens to be lying about I put upon myself. A clothing store I used to make use of became an internet cafe. I have all but had my shoes given to me. I gave up on the having of a dress sense when it became clear to me that clothing shops are places wherein guilt is washed. There were those who were trying to patch what was being torn apart. But while a put-away wife is probably the most suited to the giving of sex therapy to those whose guilt brings them to facts about marriage, a bachelor starts breaking things of his own when he realizes that his life is to be endless games if he asserts these facts.

You can't always marry the one you want: which makes a fucking joke of marriage; which makes a fucking joke of civilization.

If you knew that Cain stood aside for Abel, would you then stop preaching?

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