Half a bee according to the pythonesque school of thought, must, ipso facto, half not be. Therefore, a photo of a bee, being a two dimensional object, is not only a shadow of the reality of itself, which is in turn the shadow of a reality of an ideal, but it is half of what is had been. There is no behind of the photo and the bee lacks a dimension. I am not lacking in commas, but am lacking in a certain grounding of being which leads me to sympathise with the missing half a bee ...
A thorny problem if ever there was.
The last rays of summer sun have descended on the mountain and the butterfly yearns for immortality. It resembles more a well read book; spine broken and pages dog-eared. Yet, I have taken flight with this pathetic image and once more embarked on a migratory journey.
More bollicks tomorrow!
