Narciss & Kate

Once upon a lifetime ago, I used to actually write some halfway decent stuff in this blog.
These days, however, all I seem to get myself together to is whining about myself, narcistically orbitting around and around my own private Idaho of desperation and loneliness; impalpably (or not so impalpably) bound by the gravity of drive structure as we know it.

What then...?
Is there no hope I might recover the will; nah, we'd better say: energy to consider the oh so many noteworthy facts in the grander scheme of life?

Should it really go unnoticed, uncommented, that William finally got engaged to Kate by giving her - oh the joy of Oedipus - the very same ring that marked the beginning of his parents illustrous marriage? (William, I dare say you are a brave little man.)

Should it really go unnoticed, uncommented, that Charles and Camilla tried to drive their Rolls Royce through a demonstration in London? (Pray, which other car should they have used?)

Should it really go unnoticed, uncommented that our very favourite dictator Gadaffi is a fan of Lionel Richie and (thus) never travels without an Ukrainian nurse? (Which comes as no surprise, obviously.)

Dare I stay untouched, unmoved by the wits of high diplomacy, their unfailing delicacy and creative imagination, paralleled only by, let's say, the puns and the audacity of the yellow press? (I dare not, I assure you.)

In sum:
Hoffentlich wird es nicht so schlimm, wie es schon ist.