It has been several years since this blog has elicited a comment—there was one early in the present year, but this was from a deranged stalker who trailed me here from a private discussion group dating from our contentious exchanges during the Cheney Shogunate—but I continue to mumble to myself in this obscure corner of the innertubes.
Well, my belief system doesn’t allow for a metaphysical cosmos in which V (1954-2008) is ethereally competent in 2020 to pluck the strings of my mind’s lyre as I sleep, although I’m prepared to entertain the possibility that time is a lot weirder than we understand. What strikes me as likelier is that my unconscious is gently tugging at my sleeve to convey that I really ought to submit the cardiac plumbing, which has lately given signs of silting up again, to medical evaluation.
