The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the
difference?  What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late
out of Paddington.  The point is taken.  If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom
Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car our aesophagus, the guards
van our left lung, the cattle truck our shins, the first class compartment the
piece of skin at the nape of the neck and the level crossing an electric elk
called Simon.  The clarity is devastating.  But where is the ambiguity?  Over
there in a box.  Shunt is saying the 8.15 from Gillingham when in reality he
means the 8.13 from Gillingham.  The train is the same, only the time is
altered.  Ecce homo, ergo elk.  La Fontaine knew its sister and knew her bloody
well.  The point is taken, the beast is moulting, the fluff gets up your nose.
The illusion is complete; it is reality, the reality is illusion and the
ambiguity is the only truth.  But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the
box?  No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight.  The point is
taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing,
I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.

Movies & Music are my life blood. Writing is my way of seeing the world and making my mind work with it. And then there's-the-wearing-the-ears-of-my-fallen-foes-around-my-neck-thing. It's quite the fashion statement, and keeps even the full-blown whack-a-loons away.