This is a little frivolous, I know, but I have been feeling the need for some frivolity after the last few days. I have gone through denial, rage, apathy, and depression, and have grounded out at angry defiance. Having finally settled on an emotion, I decided to take a break. Escapism is loverly, and for me that means books. I don't have a TV, I am too much of a hermit to go anywhere, and if I get anywhere near the computer, I get sucked into the wonderful (but at the moment rather depressing) world of the blogs.
So, I sat me down with my smokes, a Coke, and some rather fine examples of science fiction, from Poe to Asimov and beyond. When I want escapism, I don't mess about - I'm going off planet, baby.
And it was working so well! I was mellowing right out, chillin' like a villian, when I ran across this all too apropos poem at the end of a Kipling story. It sent me flying back to the blog to share it with my fellow Kossacks. Poem is below the fold.
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