BIROCO.COM ~ What kind of day have you had today Mr Znuz?

What kind of day have you had today Mr Znuz?

JULY 26 06

I had the largest moth I've seen in a long time fly into my kitchen this evening, a Poplar Hawk-moth, it was fluttering madly all over the place, flashing a beautiful orange patch on its hindwing, that is hidden when it's at rest. It was heading for the stove so I quickly poured away the water in various pots. It settled at first on the tiles on the wall by the stove, but kept sliding down, couldn't get a grip. So as I know a lot of large moths are quite okay about the idea of clambering onto a finger, well I assume it's not just my finger, I gently pushed my fingertip beneath its feet and he gripped on. A marvellous thing. Curious the way it rests with its hindwings pushed forwards. Here it is on my kitchen blind. Now I'm going to have to remember very hard that he's there when I pull that blind up tomorrow, I think I may well stick a big notice up to remind me (done):

This wasn't the only unusual thing today, how about this sunset, that ray was like a searchlight:

Two things to remember this day by, should this day turn out to be the start of something wonderful. A third thing: I made blackberry crumble with blackberries collected entirely from my garden. So should this day turn out to be important in the scheme of things, I'll be able to say, look at some of the things that happened on that day. Do you understand? Too much goes by unnoticed. It was a hot lethargic day. I made frijoles refritos for lunch, in pitta bread with chopped cucumber and tomato and a squeeze of lemon as a refritos kebab, with Encona hot pepper sauce. I read about Lowestoft in W G Sebald's strange book The Rings of Saturn. I went out only to the bottom of the road to buy two tins of Ambrosia Devon Custard to chill to have with my blackberry crumble. I listened to what sounded like a Muslim call to prayer set to music on the radio. I turned it up loud with all the windows open to create a little bubble of Islam drifting out between the houses. I thought about people who pray five times a day, thought I'm too lazy for that, but I don't mind turning the radio up a bit and listening respectfully should the moment present itself. The sounds were very peaceful, I could imagine minarets in great cities, thriving bazaars, Persian carpets being rolled out under the beady watchful eye of a huge parrot. I thought of war crimes and shrapnel and relentless killing, and how easy it would be to shoot a Katyusha (not Katusha, who is quite fit) at our Houses of Parliament, and how it's the logical next step, and how I'm really not that bothered. Then I thought how convenient Parliament has gone on holiday. At first it seems a crazy thing to do at this time, but then you think handy I guess if it's empty when the Katyushas demolish it. Pity, nice bit of architecture, but, agreed, symbolic. Buckingham Palace would be better though. An ugly building. But then the music ended and I switched off the radio, my mind naturally drifting over matters quite spontaneously that you may or may not be allowed to say any more. Can I be locked up for my daydreams recorded on paper? What if my dreams are in support of terrorism? I dreamt last night that I had a nice friendly chat with my next-door neighbour and we got on really well, and in reality he's a complete fucking wanker (him). Frankly, though, haven't we all been radicalised to the point of wishing death on Israel. Y'know, when someone behaves like a cunt you just want to punch him, don't you? If I feel like that, and I'm the sort of person who tends to put his feet up and think about larger matters than what the unevolved apes of this planet get up to, then just think how they're fuming in Iran, and when you fume like that you don't care about the consequences you just come running out the barn with a sharpened rake. Hell yes, let's hope they've got a little Fat Man careering down shiny corridors strapped to a tea-trolley, men in white coats all of a fluster and only 60 per cent certain it won't just fall backwards when launched and make a crater in their own neck of the woods, cos y'know they're bound to be impatient for their own Bikini Atoll by now and how much plutonium can you fit in a Katyusha anyhow, shit let's just tie a coffeejar of the stuff on with string let's get this Motherfucker Goliath with a fucking catapult dirty bomb we're all going to Heaven in a crock o shit anyhow who gives a fuck let loose the fucking dogs of war Cry Havoc Yeah. And somewhere in America some old guy strums a guitar on a porch and thinks it's 1935. We all die. It's a good thing not to mind.