Sunday, May 6, 2012

We Interrupt This Program...

Some of you people probably didn't know I am a sensitive softie sometimes.

I bet you think that I am so full o' bile and hate that I could never sit back and simply enjoy what life brings to me and appreciate stuff. answer to that I would say you are wrong and that you should take a spool of corroded concertina wire...and gingerly...and with much zeal...go fuck yourself.

I am not mean.

So eat me.

Anyhoo...I came home from work a couple of days ago and these were exploding in my neglected garden.

Aren't they stunning?

They are poppies, but they are not they variety one produces hallucinogens with.


They are poppies to look at and thank God about in bewildered wonderment.

The red petals are said to represent the blood spilled in wars.

The black center is said to be a cross signifying God or a grave marker.

Or something.


Poppies are very popular in the United Kingdom with people who are in the "forces" and with folks there who remember the cream of a generation being mowed down wholesale for no good reason by German machine guns.

It is very sad to think about it sometimes.

In the UK, people who still speak English and are patriotic and are not Muslim wear poppies in November to mark Remembrance Day.  It's kinda like our November Veterans Day or our May Memorial Day here in the US, but a little less arrogant.

My poppies bloom every May.  With Memorial Day coming, it is very appropriate.

That's what I think.

I've heard that poppies grow abundantly in disturbed soil, and that old European battlefields which were churned up by artillery fire are now blanketed with poppies.

It's almost as if all the souls of all those young men violently snuffed out...for imbecilic reasons, or no purpose at all...are reaching out and saying, "We were important.  We meant something.  We had beautiful potential.  Remember us."

I remember.


  1. nice reflection

  2. How would a spool of rusty concertina wire assist one in fucking oneself?

  3. A question for the ages, fine sir.

  4. The poppy thing in the Commonwealth countries comes from a WWI era poem by Lt Col John McCrae

    In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the Dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
    In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
    In Flanders fields.

    ... and Opiates (the drugs made from poppies) aren't hallucinogenic per se. They just kill pain, make you feel gooood, and constipate you.

    ...and yes, the blooms are purtyful.


Feel free to comment away with your bad-ass selves.

Cursing and foul language is fine...even encouraged here. In fact, I think cussing is fucking wonderful.

Just remember...this is MY house, and I will not be insulted or maliciously messed with here.

Good-natured ribbing is cool, but if you and I don't have some kind of previous relationship, you had best mind your fucking manners or I will relegate you to the intardnets dustbin for being a cunt.

To know me is to love me.

Or something.