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

Not everyone has the same reasons as I to look back to days without the waste problem that plastic has given us. I lost my need to uphold a marriage that goes back to those days; I wasn't upholding the marriage as a favour: it benefitted me, and now it doesn't.

There are at times reasons which are not excuses, that find us looking at the disposal of a broken packet with an imtermixture of unresolved feelings of all kinds. People who pride themselves on foresight feel the biggest jerks. The question of what happened to the good old days, comes to mind, but whatever waste-free measures were in place when ships and men were made of steel, are now at the bottom of the ocean, along with the men with no hearts who were the only ones who knew how to properly wield a blade. Apparently all the plastic on the top of the ocean has nicely collected itself together. But this would make the problem easy to deal with.

It's much easier, when faced with a problem that requires thought, which is one which may not mean much to those without children, to make a joke about it. But hellish twilight boys sit and think, and look at imagery that is bandied about, and posit the notion that the imagery is a setup for a joke; the aim of which is to terminate the conversation.

Hellish twilight boys are those who do not think metamorphosis aught to be a term applied to men.

Oil companies must regulate oil, for it is far from scarce. Economies that are ill disciplined extract a pile of diamonds from the earth, the weight of which brings the whole concern underground.

And a teacher who brings order to chaos is hated forever more, for the benefits he derived.

Besides being wasteful, throwing our diamonds away might result with streets paved with them. Dratted gold miners interfered with those who wanted to pave the streets with that substance.

Kingdom Come!

Our ageing starts with a shock: it doesn't do to teach immortality to boys; women, on the other hand, are another matter. I'm happy with the suggestion that there's little between a girl and a woman. To all the anonymous girls and women out there, I would be happy to simply refer to people by name. But that hasn't changed. So, on account of us having to refer to girls and women as delicately as ever, worags you shall be.

That worag who shocked me, and mocked me in my dreams, had foresight about the waste thing.

There are levels of intimacy, and worags discuss these things with each other.

If you find that you've been shocked by one, people are likely to give you comforting words, but they all amount to leading you to call her different names than girl or woman. But that leaves you as an innocent boy, now with protectors. A protector who isn't a worag or a hellish twilight boy is called Satan. It's best to just shut up about her than to follow my example or you'll find yourself being called something similar.

Protectors that are worags are called hens.

Hens don't know how to deal with waste: when they think of recycling, they think of an egg. But plastic from oil will outlast us all. Young worags think that their sons might deal with the problem. Old people who feel wasted, don't know how to not tell us that we might as well give up: the old way is to see lack of foresight as demonstrating corruption, and old sayings about waste had much to do with the eating of food.

People need happy thoughts for the future, but people who are needed are kept going, though their life is to become drudgery while others flit about.

One hellish twilight boy suggested I read a book about metamorphosis; which is imagery suggestive of the disabled, but in truth it was simply a mirror to show me that my guilt was being worked for no good ends. My guilt for having lost my childhood interests.

Twenty years later I decided to setup a website again.

A boy who only has hens for an audience, is told to think about children without father figures, when they mention waste. A hellish twilight boy who has something like a protector knows that a worag who doesn't want to listen, attempts to corrupt the teacher. Thus it is quite correct that before learning can happen, mothers and fathers need to get their children from playing with things that can just as easily wait until after their education.

And while this is happening, all the worags of the country put their fingers into their mouths and ask, 'what happened to all the good men?'