Travelling for the first time in four months and i find myself sitting in a tire shop waiting on vehicle repair. The rattle that was shaking the car the last few miles was a brake shoe dragging on a tire. The plans to be early are replaced with being at the mercy of the corporate time universe.
On another time line, i am pulling into my partial destination. I unload my pack and gear and wave goodbye to my temporary travelling companion. That we were not on the road at 60 mph when things broke was luck. In one reality, the plans set were enacted with grace.
Here in the now, i sip coffee from a styrofoam cup and try not to be distracted by the golf match on cable TV. Doc used to play golf. He can drive and putt, but had no control over chipping. Guarenteed disaster, every time. Just like modern life.
The radio show this morning was so far off the wall that the listeners had to be entertained. Doc has no clue toward current social mores, but now he totally groks underboob and sideboob media photos. Instagram is a large club, wanna be a member, wanna be a member?
Sometimes, a great notion. There is a knew weigh, measuring reality of what we though we knew against the way it appears to be. Nothing is real, so there's nothing to get hung about. Steempunk Radio, 10 am eastern time, weekdays.
Groups are self-selected associations of characters, each formed at human scale by social interaction in our discord chat. Connectivity worldwide on a human to human scale, both voice and written chat. We meme out and present a skewed view of everything. It all follows the golden mean, aka the yellow brick road.
Welcome to my whirled...