|Toxic lilac lakes forming in my red blood cells|
But for malaria, perhaps the more appropriate question is, where's the
What's the cure? It all depends on just how radical you want to be. A simple beheading would take care of the problem, but you'd not live to enjoy the cessation of febrility. Perhaps a little lobotomy so you don't feel febrile? Trouble is lobotomies are so difficult to judge. A little too much rummaging and you won't feel the cool collected calm periods either. In fact, you might not feel anything at all. So there you go - when the cure is worse than the disease, stick with the disease and manage it with made up panaceas that consist of sugary dough baked at high temperatures and hot dark cups of strong coffee.
|Dwarf trees, but giant produce. One can but hope|
Oh I know what'll work. La Clemenza di Tito. It's always helped in the past. Such a lovely story of sworn vengeance, forgiveness and then redemption. Especially when the ferocious Dame Janet Baker is really, really, really pissed off. This will do my febrile heart, mind and vascular system good. The cool, elegant and focused passion of Mozart's music, c'est si moi. Except that I'm not really elegant nor cool, nor focussed but one can aspire can't one?
|Mr. Palmer looks askance at hope|
This too shall be done. It shall be done. I've always completed the applications - even if unsuccessful - but it just feels like I'm cutting it too fine this time. Okay. Febrile sequence over for now - who needs gin or tonic (probably DWE and DWA the drunken sots) - I'll just go and channel focussed passion now and put in my claim for hope and redemption. What was that Ben (Geoffrey Palmer in Butterflies) said about hope?
"Hope - there it goes running for the hills,
its blasted arse on fire"