An English In Kentucky


















Sunday July 15th 2012    Tim Candler

    A big sadness is that sense of a world gripped by an intemperate direction.  I know I share this sadness with some. And maybe we are foolish, or less well adjusted, or uncomprehending or just plain pissed off.  We ponder the possibilities, dream of more saintly alternatives, then those of us who no longer are able to visit a barroom, or apps store, devote ourselves to the even more pointless battle against things that begin to creep across gravel,  which they do just as soon as the weather turns from hot and dry, to hot and damp and driven by mold and Satan.

     I understand the argument from the efficient.  I could use a herbicide or a flame thrower to reinforce a passion for orderliness of edges, and the behavior of others in general.  And I know why Ford wanted his motor car to be within the reach of those who labored in his factory. And sometimes, very briefly, I can see why the upper classes prefer to see the rest of us without those baubles and appendages that keep them upper. A divinity of the strong, I'd argue.  And too, I think I can sometimes understand how it is that gentleness never buggers up the paths.

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