a prophecy

My sister is visiting from up north. I tell her my rent is going up again. She says ‘I know, you told me last time I was here.’ But that was two weeks ago, and the letter that informed me is dated last Wednesday. She is adamant: I told her two weeks ago, in the kitchen; she remembers because she thought ‘they’re doing the same to us, same amount and everything.’

I have no recollection either of knowing earlier or of saying so, though when we talk about the figure and the way I said it, it feels familiar. It should do, though; it’s the same amount as last time. Clare doesn’t care; I said it, and I said it two weeks ago, and I was definitely talking about the immediate past or near future.

I snort; my eyes widen. The oracle must have spoken through me.

aphorismus

There is no spirituality without politics: one is the celebration of power; the other is the understanding of power. But do you know which is which?

modesty

A literature degree finished me for all forms of pulp fiction; it’s not much to be proud of but I absolutely can’t be bothered with romances, crime novels, airport fiction, etc… with one notable exception. I still occasionally, compulsively, reread my incomplete collection of Modesty Blaise stories. Disreputable of me, I know, but there it is.

She’s not plausible (despite author Peter O’Donnell’s best efforts); it only takes a little consideration to realise how impossible it is for such a creature to actually exist, but she’s one of the very few role models I have. Which likely means my own goals are not plausible either, but again: there it is.