An English In Kentucky


















Thursday September 20th 2012    Tim Candler

   Like all Priests or Druids or Mental Patients, I too prefer to think I have the necessary arrogance to pursue a thread.  In my case, this thread is of a gauge Tadpoles would laugh at, but it's the lure, or maybe a bait, that counts.  Yet, even though I might sometimes appear to endeavor it, when it comes to dragging it into the net, beating it over the head, so that I might feast upon it's corpse, someone else can did that.  And if you want to know why, it has more to do with my own experience of priests or the professions of hallowedness, than it has to do with the gauge of my own value.

      I remember arguing over the distinction between a citizen military and a volunteer military.  The other point was that this distinction lay in the "question of values" rather than in the convolutions that follow a desire to avoid the possibility of dying for clan or country.  I forget the ever so frail point I was attempting to make, but I do remember thinking, "This dumb shit is a pompous arse and we are doomed if even the Priests are self serving cowherds with nothing but book sales from the souls of others on their mind."  A complete over reaction to one idea of  'personal salvation,' I know.  But it was his smirk that left the indelible mark in me.  And I wish I could remember the bastard's name.

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