the properties of soil

satyrday 12 march 2011….   turners pervs

and a greenfield satyr as well, yesterday… we know him as Matthew.                                       

just meandering again. it’s almost the ides. but I and mine were wasted before the fifteenth, so what are the ides to me.

am in, as periodically happens, an intensification of the chronic, monopolar depression. haven’t felt like doing much new writing, and so what. there’s plenty of old writing to organize. haven’t felt like doing much of anything.

am on Twitter, since last summer, and have very mixed feelings about the whole thing. some of my followers are engaging, both their tweets and their interests. some are much less so. I now have some foreigners in my mix: germans and dutch and aussies and turks and greeks. this makes me feel a little teensy bit like a less ugly amerikan. some animal people and autism people and atheist people and science and book people are among my little group. I have a doctor, and a dentist, and a veterinarian. some come from the lunatic fringe to follow me, and I block them. haven’t I had enough lunatics destroying everything that mattered to me? don’t misapprehend: compared to just about everyone else on Twitter, I have almost no followers, and follow almost none. but even the small number I have is beginning to be hard to manage. because I’m a weirdo who actually likes to read the tweets of most of my followers, and perhaps retweet or reply to them. and you really need to keep your gang manageable if you want to do that.

today there was a tweet from one of my autism people, called Andrea. she put up a quote I’d never seen before, and it is absolute truth, and I wanted to have it somewhere on my website:

 

                 People are like dirt. They can either nourish you
                 and help you grow, or they can stunt your growth
                 and make you wilt and die.
                                                                              ~~~  plato

 

as if it weren’t already abundantly clear, many of the humans of my years decided to stunt and wilt and kill me, rather than nourish. I’ve always liked Plato.

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