Fweeet Fweeet - that's the call of the mocking bird with a harelip, er - - harebeak. Bringing back an old joke to jump-start to the next chapter in Hands Full of The World. The sweet guy who healed everyone but himself shares the plot-line with flies in the sky like unhealthy remnants. These lips have touched the truth but by the time they get to my fingertips the poignancy is missing. Boo-hoo! Fweeet.

Summer of '21 is right at the checkered flag and there's so much left to capitulate. Is it over? Drama much? The news is all corona-ida-fire-afghan filled so back to the effective diversions - - I've got the world on a string when I'm in here.

Right here is where I usually paste clips from past writings but lah-de-dah. She doesn't have the 'rona so there's no need to make this for the masses. In fact there's no mandate or manfig to continue but we're here, we ain't no shakespeare but we DO adhere.

30, while thrilled by the 27 years can only beat 69 by a harebeak.