I love bloggers. Even red-spectrum bloggers are generally decent, reasonable people. And I must say that the blogosphere is a prana-rich and rarified gestalt, amid certain circuits at least, and to imagine being without the richness these blognoscenti provide is a loss too stupefying to witness, without Recalcitanto rearing his ugly head. So I shall thereby render it moot, mute, at least for The Time Bean.
But, as I consider how many bloggers I regard so warmly and highly, so to speak, if may be siebold, piebald, or dare I say it? Skewbald. There, I've said it. Well, these will just have to be taken in like syrup from a spoon, since all I know is shoot! I am with elation. And hope it's not mania. For every man in the land of the space of today knows that...you up one, you up the udder. And bad cream always races to the gulley...which, of course, makes me think of Tristan Tzara and perhaps even Andre (Bucky) Breton. Something about automatic writing. Cloaca of Consciousness. Martha Loofah & the Farty Feces. But that doesn't belie the source.
And as there is nothing more important than ending your paragraphs with meaningless non-sequitors, let it also be said that bloggers, rascals though they be, are, ARE, the steak of the ark. The wind-blown zephyrs of Truth. The eye of the potatoe. I mean "e".
In shorts, I want to hereby launch a new series, entitled "In praise of bloggers", with a special eye out for those bloggers that are destined to become future winners of the Nobel Peace Prize. I will have to drag out my prophet beanie.
