"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy- they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom." -Marcel Proust, Anywhere you seek Anywhere you stand, Friends come and go like waves of the ocean but the true ones stick like an octopus on your face., Oi you!, Patience will deliver Fire from the spark, Polite applause excepted To the ones selected, Pop Goes the Weasel, Put it in the ground where the flowers grow Gold and silver shine, She wakes me up in the morning through squeaking in my dreams, You and I are more than friends. We’re like a really small gang.
I refer of course to you dear readers — the fearless and faithful – points to the audience, as solid a band of the finest and freakiest folks in the troposphere and beyond as one, two or several could ever wish for.
Esme has garnered a few new followers over the past few months, and so thought that once again she would fill in the unaware (not easy to scare waves at Little Fears) of the score on the door here upon the Cloud. I would simply post a link to the last post informing folks of said malarkey, but people can never be arsed to click links so I’ll copy some of that, add some of this, chuck in a bit of vanilla essence and bake for twenty minutes. – feels she’s drifting off subject yet again and reels Esme back to the here and now (ish)
Energy is an issue for this particular Cloud dancer, and circumstance leaves Esme with no choice but to be extra frugal with her time, for she has been – and shall continue to be indefinitely – having some rather harsh medical treatment. It drains her immensely, (rests upon her sofa briefly looking like Greta Garbo) and as if that’s not enough, she’s also writing and hand-illustrating *(prints and pen and ink – (no it does not stink, thank you at the back in the trilby looking disturbed, confused and bilious** – (**also the name of Esme’s firm of solicitors)* – a small book (growing larger as we speak/mime/dance/eat pickled gherkins) of poems and short stories, and the proof reading alone is ageing her by the day (laughs and waves at her proof-reader/editor/miracle-worker who waves back weakly and looks like he lives in hell the poor sod).
The upshot? I shall post as often as I can, for I do love being here, with my fellow bedlamites upon the Cloud – but there is no way in heaven/Dante’s Inferno/Aldi/The Pound Shop/Half a Sixpence that I can keep up with all your lovely blogs all the time. Some of you post every day, some several times a week, some every leap year (or so it seems – (Uses a pea shooter to wake them up with a bullseye in the right buttock) so I’ll be doing a ‘catch-up’ every now and again, and will try my utmost best to comment as often as feasible upon your digital papyrus.
A shout out to a few new word lovers I found recently, and to all my followers, ye olde loony Cloudy crew – Yo dogs – waves a gold chain about but doesn’t grab her crotch. I am extremely grateful for your continuing presence upon the Cloud, for you enrich Esme’s life with your wondrous wordage and mad shit**. (**technical troposphere term* – some of this post may be edited away to nothing after it has been eyeballed good and proper, so make the most of it now, I can’t have it turning up in The Daily Wail when famous). No need to say anything about all that above my dears — the health and meds etc, it is as it is and no more.
Esme is aware that the lack of an appearance at their own gaff (blog/virtual place of abode) will not do for some bloggers, as they feel they should get back as much as they give — she quite understands that, and asks that if this means they won’t be staying, that they shut the door on the way out, leave their Cloud cape and Monocle of power with her maid (Hariod) and bugger off pronto.
Thanks to you all – Esme and The Cloud ❤