This picture is like one of those optical illusions where some people see a duck and others a rabbit. Or more like a Rorschach, and I don’t know what it reveals, but I see a man holding a rifle and it sort of disturbs me. And even though I know it’s not a rifle I still see a rifle.
Hmmm. I see a parking lot where there shouldn’t be a parking lot.
I see a man returning to civilization after an appropriately indeterminate sabbatical…
Looks like, for perhaps the millionth time, I’ve missed the point of something because I was distracted by something that wasn’t there.
A glimpse of Michael Kearney jerking off in the gorse?
Gripped in the vice of abuse.
You can dominate the landscape.
Neutralize the elements.
Go ahead, devour the terrain.
You deserve it.
Humiliate your surroundings.
It’s that giant green woodlouse seen side-on in front of the caravans that worries me.
Jamesons: so much to answer for.
Now gElm has pointed out the rifle, clearly this is Mike coming down from this hills to teach the campers a thing or two about the life of the mind.
I’m really trying to find the giant green woodlouse, but no dice.
Dave, you need more Jamesons – though the last bottle might have sold out over there, what with all the snow.
The critter’s crouching on top of the rise at the left-hand side of the path: so, probably satanic, too. You can see its head and some kind of damn feelers under those two red caravans. You keep an eye on it: I’m calling whoever’s in charge. Any idea of their name?
Don’t mind if I do. Cheers …
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