A BILL OF GOODS

I’m supposed to worry about what somebody who doesn’t know me says….gotcha!…
-nativist- is just such made up leftist bs…..
Jus’sayin…..

Citizens lamenting USAUSA’s slide into the abyss can rest content knowing that their alternative vision of a stable benevolent empire enduring forever is reasonable, well-thought-out, and historically accurate.

POSIWID is true. Because actions be the true whether/not even/if words align twice, or more, a day – or not.

So. POWIWID.

Not what words “say” or are momentarily defined to “mean”…………………….POSITRACTION, a paired hi-test rubbering of/on the roman road, not lo-testimony, is what got Vinnie’s cousin off. And pert-purty PosiTomei got Vinnie off, in the movie anyway – different leagues in reel/real life. Applies to notions of justice too & just as much.

This piece of cake, & the other earlier one, was already baked. As much as any “piece” of the baking process is ever post-conception concluded. Saw the Garrison & saw the borrow right off, cut/pasted it to mine pastiche own. Lending it forward, interest-free, symmetry of the snake-like, as I conclude this divertissement/urn:

CAMOUFLAGE

When I was a boy I spent a lot of time in the woods, swamps & fields hunting. Well, “herping.”

I was an amateur herpetologist of sorts & maintained a fairly large collection of snakes.

Snakes’ scaly skins’ textures, patterns & colorations vary widely but what most have in common is visual presentation adaptation to environment: camouflage.

(Most. Some “eschewed” that adaptation in favor of other specialized skills. Black Racers are matte jet black, Indigos are glossy blue-black, & those stand out, rather than blend in.

But “racers.” Those can really move. Indigos, too. Hard to catch. And it seemed as if they wanted you to try. “Dare ya’.”

How fast is black-clad WEFtile Schwab, I wonder.)

It’s not anything snakes have a monopoly on, camouflage, tho. It suffuses all of nature. It is adaptation #1.

So, to unpracticed eyes, “a snake in the grass” will often go unseen. It’s just all grass. A golf course.

(But …I was almost got by a ‘gator, living in a golf course water hazard, on Hilton Head island. Not that I or it sneaked the other. A case of Dueling Dare-o’s.)

I was curious, interested, focused, fascinated really, & my ability to pick snakes out of their backgrounds became well-developed. If a snake was there, I could usually see it. And if I saw it, I could usually catch it. And if it moved at all I saw-heard, or heard-saw, it every time.

Now, what about human nature under the half ouroboros bell curve that isn’t subterranean? ( The one true ring & red-hot frying panopticon. ) It’s not separate from the woods, swamps & fields, is it? How does adaptation #1 work with & among humanimals?

With too many people, the camouflage is via symbolism. Languages are representations purporting to pass themselves off as “grass.” The Grammarly OED municipal golf course …

… (which is flood irrigated with flushed toilet-water from all the Prussian privies.)

And also very much as in “Here, smoke this grass. This grass means something, man.”

Encompassing words, maths, lyrics, these are the symbols, not the reality, that people hide out in. Either to avoid being preyed upon, or to facilitate predation upon others.

(Also to self-cannibalize.)

In practice, predator is the levels “above” prey which in turn transforms prey into predators of the levels “below” them. Even ruminants are predators of grass.

And lots of couch bovines smoke & eat grass. And pretend it facilitates grassp.

People have – are taken in & had by – this symbol affinity naturally.

It is biology.

(Or it is physics & chemistry. The abiotic sludge that lubes, & the flammable goop that propels, this rube goldberg perpetual motion-in-place machinery.)

But it is also strenuously reinforced: “school.”

(Play to / those “funky music” string-ths, “white boy.”)

First nature *really* becomes “second nature.” Autonomic, thoughtless, reflexive … & it just “feels so right.” The bells hung on strings ring & the salivary glands secrete-toll for thee-se.

So, for example, “flu” disappears because the symbol has been changed to “covid.”

Changed why? Because there are snakes a’ spellin’ lying in camouflaged wait in “the covid” grass.

(Or in the “constitutional Convention” cast-a-spell/ing-🐝. Butter flies from lips-to-ears-already shucked & stings like bees, over & over & over, just st/r/inging all those children of the corn along from conception to grave.)

And mRNA roses by any other name, “vaccines” say, smells even more just as sweet.

((Mekong “Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on? Could it be a faded rose from days gone by? And did I hear you say he was a’ meeting you here today, to take you to his mansion in the sky?” I am wo/man, hear me ROR – rate of “return” to eternal recurrence sender, address unknown, no such number, no such zone … “0! I 1!” ))

Just to point out a couple of lawn-serpents in the manicured med/usa grasslands.

((All this trumped up & tacked on trompe-l’œil book-covering too is why claims to knowing someone/s untested are as naw-stic as they come. And passing one test typically is no guarantee against failing a subsequent test, either.

Cue the scene, Braveheart. “The English won’t let us train with weapons. So we train with stones.” And keyboards.))

Words & numbers. Signs & wonders.

“Signs and wonders refers to experiences that are perceived to be miraculous as being normative in the modern Christian experience, and is a phrase associated with groups that are a part of modern charismatic movements and Pentecostalism. This phrase is seen multiple times throughout the Bible to describe the activities of the early church, and is historically recorded as continuing, at least in practice, since the time of Christ.[1] The phrase is primarily derived from Old and New Testament references and is now used in the Christian and mainstream press and in scholarly religious discourse to communicate a strong emphasis on recognizing perceived manifestations of the Holy Spirit in the contemporary lives of Christian believers. It also communicates a focus on the expectation that divine action would be experienced in the individual and corporate life of the modern Christian church, and a further insistence that followers actively seek the “gifts of the Spirit”.[2]
A further major emphasis of belief in signs and wonders is that the message of the Christian “good news” is communicated more effectively to those who do not believe it if accompanied by supernatural manifestations of the Holy Spirit, including such signs and wonders as miraculous healings and modern prophetic proclamations. This is the message of John Wimber’s book, Power Evangelism.[3]

Biblical origins
The origin of the phrase in the Old Testament is in Exodus 7:3, which describes God’s actions to free the Israelites from being enslaved in Ancient Egypt. This phrase is used a total of 31 times in the Bible and it became popular again in modern history around the time of the Azusa Street Revival, when attendees claimed miraculous and supernatural events had happened.[4] “

Pentecostals handle snakes, too, in their churches. I wasn’t, am not, that kind of reptile wrangler.

Religion (the official ones, but all the unofficial camo-pattern ones, too) is symbolic is camouflage is the predator/prey prayer meeting of the “minds” en-hived.

Autonomic, thoughtless, reflexive … “feelin’ good is good enough for me & my Borgy-Bobby McGee ….”

Ouroboros is a symbolic serpent (or dragon) that circles back around to swallow its own tail (or, for some “reason” that is never pointed out, the tail circles around to force itself down its own throat … or both: “The first rule of Fight Club is: You do not talk about Fight Club.” Personality splits into “tail” & “head” & those “two” proceed to killing each other.).

See just how insidiously recursive it is, this hard-wired spool (spool, spool – spool of fools ~ Aretha), then “learned” helplessness that leans on symbology – “sir & ma’am” good manners camouflage – to “explain” the action, the environment:

/))((\ If you believe words mean things other than what the shibbolethspian word-givers tell you they mean then the The Professor & The Madman, in their ghillie suits, have you painted, reticle on. Don’t bother running for the appropriate volume of the OED – you’ll just die tired. Be like headlamp(rey)lit Stosh, give the finger-on-trigger Deer Hunter doofus your cleanest, quickest, center mass/man demise. /))((\

Call it the relig/ion of definit/ion, maybe.

See that “ion” on those unravelling telomeric ends?

Put that way cuz everybody dies &, like the rhapsodes in Hamburger Hillper put it, “it don’t mean nuthin’,” cuz Ion’s an actor, an entertainer, & an entertainer’s metier raison detre jobbery-rhymes-robbery is to manipulate emotions-via-words & bodlanguage so as to manipulate, to unravel, otherwise tone deaf audiences … who/that want exactly that, too.

(Now visualize constriction, followed by swallowing whole.)

https://www.platonicfoundation.org/ion/

The words are force-conformed to the feelings, the emotions. It’s singing.

The sound is first, the words are a distant second. In the beginning was the sound – not the word.

Like the sound that came out of the barrel of Quigley’s Sharps. “Bang” (“you’re dead.” Bronson’s written note to Vincent in The Mechanic) is a word that mis/represents that sound as surely & truly as the 535, & the other checks kiting “balancers” emitting parliamentary noises misrepresent “citizens” – now, then, always.

Marston: “An experimental weapon with experimental ammunition.” Quigley: “You could call it that.”

Doesn’t matter what it, or anything else, is called.

“Trouble with the curve.” “That pure sound.” Maybe that Tin Cup “… tuning fork rings in your loins…”.

But most of the surround-sound is Natchez Trace Sirens, bitchez … & lashing yourself to the word-mast with preferred definitions scribbled on the inside of your blindfold will put you on the rocks fast AF … just as the Prussians, pre & post, designed it to do. POWIWID

(When you come to a fork in the tongue twice, tying those laces together ought not to take much thought. Which shows just how little thought is allotted.)

Words is dry flies the Rainbows & the Rambos rise to. On the other end is Colonel Trautman. If you read First Blood, you know there was, could be, no sequelae.

Sounds, not words:

“Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.”

Fooking Hollywood, & Zappa’s fly-casting TV:

“It’s talking about the town of Missoula Montana. “It” is Missoula.

The Blackfoot, Bitterroot and Clarkfork river all merge into one river near Missoula and it flows through town.

In the Blackfoot canyon, just a few miles outside Missoula the sun sets an hour and a half earlier than Missoula due to the tall steep mountains surrounding the narrow canyon, the canyon was carved out of the rocks by glacier lake Missoula. The sun’s gone two or more hours before dark, similar to the long twilight of the arctic. When the sun goes down, the temperature drops fast and the fish start rising.

This is all very literal.

The Movie ruined Missoula, way too many people Migrated here because of the Movie alone. And just in case you are thinking about moving here, Montana is full, winter starts in September and ends in June, sometimes July. If that’s not enough to keep you away, the woods are full of ravenous Grizzly bears and wolves. So many that 1 in 5 tourists are eaten by them. The remaining 4 are taken out by bison.”

But … I prolly spied MT on the teevee, the first times, too. Difference is I fit it & it fit me. But…

By the time I got to Phoenix – 1960 – there was good & nothing there ( a real cool hand in the dry Sonoran heat … but look at it now ) & by the time I got to Missoula – during “pandemic” – it was wall-to-wall californigators clogging up the watershed & remaking the place in their own west coastal camo image, incl californiflation prices-ramping ….

((( ***go-marching-in (as below, above) Camp of the Saints gots a black hole in a grimy blindspot “gloryhole.” Bluebelly Yanks, or anybody else – not just 3rd world woofpacks – flooding in & capsizing places is the de rigueur gulliverian rigging fix is in. I saw Taylor Sheridan telling Rogan about the “free land” ads Goliath ran in David lands “newspapers” around the world. And how those ads didn’t say anything about the redmen who already lived in those parcels. Shock the monkey shock troops word-bribed to degrade the sausage grinder with their sand-in-the-gears bodies. For Goliath, telling David tales that just don’t ever stop selling … or, really, its like what self-satisfied insurance salespeople used to emphasize: residual income. Sell the policy once, get a piece of the lilliputian island in the stream forever – or until the next hurricane puts New Orleans underwater again so “the insurance” can go marching in & rebuild it in the path of destruction again (& again, & again & again .)… Nowadays the scam is called “the subscription model.”

Still unsaint-tainted places in MT on the cheek-by-jowl level, but the problem as usual is gerrymandered geopolitical hierarchization that Maslow’s Blowhards just can’t stop recreating everywhere they infest. )))

ROSCOE
It’s all the goddamned money, Ed
Tom. The money and the drugs. It’s
just goddamned beyond everything.
What’s it mean? What is it leading
to?

BELL
Yes.

ROSCOE
If you’d a told me twenty years ago
I’d see children walkin’ the streets
of our Texas towns with green hair
and bones in their noses I just flat
out wouldn’t of believed you.

BELL
Signs and wonders. But I think once
you stop hearin’ sir and madam the
rest is soon to follow.

ROSCOE
It’s the tide. It’s the dismal tide.
It is not the one thing.

BELL
Not the one thing. I used to think I
could at least some way put things
right. I don’t feel that way no more.

BELL
…I don’t know what I do feel like.

ROSCOE
Try “old” on for size.

BELL
Yessir. It may be that. In a nutshell.

UbeenTubed has the scene – but, jerrymathersbeevefuckers, when I copy/paste the link I get scolded “This video couldn’t be inserted. Pages doesn’t have permission to play this video.” So I hand type in the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nkjj2hRx_Cl
*& now, just checked, its gone altogether. present tense controls past tense controls future tense – especially easy when digitense.

Cormac McCarthy’s canon is very good. For a perceptive, observant, person, its at least as sufficient an explication-description of this place as the old/new testament is. Because it depicts all the BeeveSymbolism while showing just how utterly overmatched it is by reality – & especially the reality of it’s red in tooth & claw meat-Cleaver family self.

BELL
Carla Jean, I thank you for comin’.

She sits. He sits.

CARLA JEAN
Don’t know why I did. I told you, I
don’t know where he is.

BELL
You ain’t heard from him?

CARLA JEAN
No I ain’t.

BELL
Nothin’?

CARLA JEAN
Not word one.

BELL
Would you tell me if you had?

CARLA JEAN
Well, I don’t know. He don’t need
any trouble from you.

BELL
It’s not me he’s in trouble with.

CARLA JEAN
Who’s he in trouble with then?

BELL
Some pretty bad people.

CARLA JEAN
Llewelyn can take care of hisself.

BELL
These people will kill him, Carla
Jean. They won’t quit.

CARLA JEAN
He won’t neither. He never has.

BELL
I wish I could say that was in his
favor. But I have to say I don’t
think it is.

CARLA JEAN
He can take all comers.

Bell looks at her. After a beat:

BELL
You know Charlie Walser? Has the
place east of Sanderson?

She shakes her head, shrugs.

BELL
…Well you know how they used to
slaughter beeves, hit ’em with a
maul right here to stun ‘em…

Indicates between his own eyes.

BELL
…and then truss ’em up and slit
their throats? Well here Charlie has
one trussed up and all set to drain
him and the beef comes to. It starts
thrashing around, six hundred pounds
of very pissed-off livestock if you’ll
pardon my… Charlie grabs his gun
there to shoot the damn thing in the
head but what with the swingin’ and
twistin’ it’s a glance-shot and
ricochets around and comes back hits
Charlie in the shoulder. You go see
Charlie, he still can’t reach up
with his right hand for his hat…
Point bein’, even in the contest
between man and cow the issue is not
certain.

He takes a sip of coffee, leaving room for Carla Jean to
argue if inclined.

She does not.

Sheriff Bell hands a card across.

BELL
…When Llewelyn calls, just tell
him I can make him safe.

She takes the card. Sheriff Bell sips.

BELL
…Course, they slaughter beeves
different now. Use a air gun. Shoots
out a rod, about this far into the
brain…

He holds thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart.

BELL
…Sucks back in. Animal never knows
what hit him.

Another beat. Carla Jean stares at him.

CARLA JEAN
Why you tellin’ me that, Sheriff?

{{Me: Because it is one hell of an image. Transcends, & really sends the warning message, on a compressed air puff-sound, much, much further & beyond beef slaughtering.}}

BELL
I don’t know. My mind wanders

INT. WEST TEXAS CABIN – KITCHEN – DAY
Ellis, an old man in a wheelchair, has one clouded eye.

ELLIS
Min back!

Sheriff Bell enters.

BELL
How’d you know I was here.

ELLIS
Who else’d be in your truck.

BELL
You heard it?

ELLIS
How’s that?

BELL
You heard my — you havin’ fun with
me?

ELLIS
What give you that idea. I seen one
of the cats heard it.

BELL
But — how’d you know it was mine?

ELLIS
I deduced it. Once you walked in.

Sheriff Bell stares at him.

BELL
How many a those things you got now?

ELLIS
Cats? Several. Wal. Depends what you
mean by got. Some are half-wild, and
some are just outlaws.

BELL
How you been, Ellis?

ELLIS
You lookin’ at it. I got to say you
look older.

BELL
I am older.

ELLIS
Got a letter from your wife. She
writes pretty regular, tells me the
family news.

BELL
Didn’t know there was any.

ELLIS
She just told me you was quittin’.

Sit down.

Sheriff Bell lifts an electric percolator off the counter.

BELL
Want a cup?

ELLIS
‘Preciate it.

BELL
How fresh is this coffee?

ELLIS
I generally make a fresh pot ever
week even if there’s some left over.

Sheriff Bell pours some.

BELL
That man that shot you died in prison.

ELLIS
In Angola. Yeah.

BELL
What would you a done if he’d been
released?

ELLIS
I don’t know. Nothin’. Wouldn’t be
no point to it.

BELL
I’m kindly surprised to hear you say
that.

ELLIS
All the time you spend tryin’ to get
back what’s been took from you there’s
more goin’ out the door. After a
while you just try and get a
tourniquet on it.

He taps a cigarette ash into a mason jar lid on the table in
front of him.

ELLIS
…Your granddad never asked me to
sign on as deputy. I done that my
own self. Loretta says you’re
quittin’.

BELL
Yes, you’ve circled round.

ELLIS
How come’re you doin that?

BELL
I don’t know. I feel overmatched.

A beat.

BELL
…I always thought when I got older
God would sort of come into my life
in some way. He didn’t. I don’t blame
him. If I was him I’d have the same
opinion about me that he does.

ELLIS
You don’t know what he thinks.

BELL
Yes I do.

A beat.

ELLIS
I sent Uncle Mac’s badge and his old
thumbbuster to the Rangers. For their
museum there. Your daddy ever tell
you how Uncle Mac come to his reward?

Sheriff Bell shrugs.

ELLIS
…Shot down on his own porch there
in Hudspeth County. There was seven
or eight of ’em come to the house.
Wantin’ this and wantin’ that. Mac
went back in and got his shotgun but
they was way ahead of him. Shot him
down in his own doorway. Aunt Ella
run out and tried to stop the
bleedin’. Him tryin to get hold of
the shotgun again. They just set
there on their horses watchin’ him
die. Finally one of ’em says somethin’
in Injun and they all turned and
left out. Well Mac knew the score
even if Aunt Ella didn’t. Shot through
the left lung and that was that. As
they say.

BELL
When did he die?

ELLIS
Nineteen zero and nine.

BELL
No, I mean was it right away or in
the night or when was it.

ELLIS
Believe it was that night. She buried
him the next mornin’. Diggin’ in
that hard caliche.

A beat.

ELLIS
…What you got ain’t nothin’ new.
This country is hard on people. Hard
and crazy. Got the devil in it yet
folks never seem to hold it to
account.

BELL
Most don’t.

ELLIS
You’re discouraged.

BELL
I’m… discouraged.

ELLIS
You can’t stop what’s comin. Ain’t
all waitin’ on you.

The two men look at each other. Ellis shakes his head.

ELLIS
…That’s vanity.

But wait! There’s more!

Kept snakes have to be fed & watered.

Some, like the Hognose snakes, had a preference for toads. So I’d go out & catch toads.

Some, like Ringneck snakes, liked certain insects. So I’d go out & catch insects.

Some, like the various Water snakes, liked frogs. So I’d go out & catch frogs.

But most of the larger snakes, the King snakes, the Rat snakes, the Bull snakes, the Indigos/Racers, the Boa, etc, were all constrictors. For those I bred mice.

“Social” animals named “Mickey” (& last name “Finn” … how Cosby raped women, among other gotchas, many-many other gotchas). Dominance hierarchies. Path(dependent)ologies hardwired, spool-wrapped.

And when I was not careful to keep population densities below threshold, all hell broke loose. Those enclosures became Stephen King horror stories. Children of the Corn (snakes which is a beautifully colored Rat snake that eats mice by the gross) carnage.

Human nature is not separate from those glass house-mouse habitats, either, is it?

Call it Colorado Springs. Call it Denver (sweet sanctuary Camp of the Saints***go-marching-in, as above, below). Call it Ft. Collins. (Which has that bioweapon lab, on the CSU campus, working on gainer-of-function ebola – for the back-flip that brings skulls into contact with the sharp edge of the die-ving board of experts … same vein-slice, CSU’s where Temple Grandin perches: “She is a prominent proponent of the humane treatment of livestock for slaughter and the author of more than 60 scientific papers on animal behavior.”) Call it Cheyenne. Call it The Front Range. It doesn’t matter what you call it. Those are just words are just symbols.

High population densities are fragile mouse glass houses. Taleb’s Anti-fragility cannot be had in such places.

Which is not to say low density is a virtue lock, either.

Virtue has been mostly locked out, forever.

Biology, Ma’ Barker Nature, wants full-autonomic Tommygun spray & pray-prey quantity – not quality. Quantity easing on the production side, & dis-easing on the destruction side, too.

And all those ssss’s attached to “leaders” (so called) is kept snakes. Kept by toads & frogs & insects & mice. Ssss-symbiosis.

*True Detective, season 1:

So. Dead Poets Society. That was Ethan Hawke’s first “leaving the world behind” introduction to viewers. His callow youth not yet masculated character of then looks to have come full ouroboros circle to e/masculated now.

And the dementia detective from True Detective season 3 is even more menschy now in posterior world than he was then when he was in Arkansas (& he’d been a LRRP in Vietnam went that backstory). But David Milch, mensch writer if there ever was one (Deadwood, etc) helped out the S3 symbolizing.

This is a (line of) test? OK. But not the schoolboy “Captain! My captain!” kind. Its the kind used when fishing for gigantic fish. Or for great white whales. Or for hydrogen-dirigible lassoing. Cue Slim Pickens.

And those huge fish, rotting head down & stinking up Den(of thieves)mark(s the spot) are emergent Piscine property hooked & attached to the high test cable being Hindenburg-reeled in from below.

B-E-L-O-W

( Alllll those goooood little germans of every nationality, ethnicity, tribe & gang … pretending they got the “or die” clause knocked. )

“Fed put” another, scraping the veneer off, way: You’ve heard @the margin wags the dog?

Well, that snake-like margin tail is attached to, hangs from, takes its wiggle commands from, the meta marginal dog. Dog, is indeed, The Bounty Hunter. Booty Hunter, actually. Dog is domesticated wolfpack.

Wild wolves can be fierce dangerous. But next to domesticated get-along-little-doggiepacks, in the Babel Tower 4-walls window, they (it) ain’t nuthin – not a thing.

Dialogue before this scene:

“Esmail.

Today I want you to pretend
to be frightened of this man.

– You must do everything he says.

– Why?

He’s weak.
He’s nothing without his gun.

He’s very scared.
And a scared man is dangerous.

We will…
remain lions in our hearts, pesaram.”

I have this guy’s biography in the to-read pile:

“Without a constant misuse of language there cannot be any discovery, any progress” ― Paul Karl Feyerabend, Against Method

I see that. I sing that. I second that Smokey falsetto emotion/ada …

(Americans with Disabilities Act/ualization, a la mas!-mas!-maslow! Little doggies in the window have a right to handicapped rearview mirror placards to hang in “their” windows.)

I also see that “progressive” & all the other regressive misusers continue to run circles around most of the Prussian salad dressing “graduates” & that those regressed credential-soaked croutons continue to circle-ensnare themselves. Willingly. Pridefully. Grammatically-politically correctly.

(RP McMurphy & Nurse Shark Ratchet got lines to say & flies on lines to rise to. Chief Bromden, not so much.)

The trope-scene from Shout: The stiff kid at the piano who must!-must!-must! play the sheet, but not the music. Then, wily coyoteacher Travolta breaks the kids shell & another Jerry Lee Lewis roadrunner is born. Just like reel life.

Chopsticks chops the sticks out from under many. Who are nonetheless sure & convinced they can play. “I’m a sailor!” ~ What About Bob

And so COPP. Court of Public Pinion:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinion#/media/File:Annular_(PSF).svg

PS Between the “anon” replication-infection, & the Sybil-schizo/slivers pseuodonymroddery of some of the regulars/uspects here, I wonder how close The Sociopath Next Door tracks TBP/oster//opulation.

PPS Dunno how tasty the Stafford Beer is, but just saw that Anchor Steam can’t iron the overhead anymore. Usta’ be a fave.

Gaggles of geese. Murders of crows. Conspiracies of ravens. Murmurations of starlings …

… Not Bierce, but something like: Bunches of words, languages, are called an “irony.” Which, if pocketed, pockets, & becomes just another word. Which it is.