I have long tried to deceive myself to avoid becoming inconclusive. My only metaphor is a strainer….and all that passes thru becomes travelers and guests. They are many and I am not offended. For those who are not up to inspection or refuse the cue to pass, I dream about and take great pleasure in being a part of their narrow recital. Of course the story is never complete, and when I awake, in my paws, I only find the crumbs. I am happy that soon all I can imagine will be polished and the binate analogy of privilege will find a way to carry on. Directly speaking, my lamentations are ridiculous, but undulating thought is as gratifying an excuse for being a babbler, as licking my toes keeps me from being forced to talk or prancing a top a sharpened introduction to a fib.