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About Dallas

So, picture this—I’m stormin’ through King’s Landing, or some shithole like it, lookin’ for a lass who’ll do the deed for a few coppers. “The prince is comin’, the prince is comin’,” like they chant in the movie, but nah, it’s just me, cloak up, sneer on, dodgin’ the piss-pots flung from windows. Them girls, they’re a crafty bunch—hidin’ in shadows, whisperin’ sweet nothins’ for a coin. One time, I spot this one, right, all rouged up, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “What harm can befall us?”—straight outta *Werckmeister*, that eerie calm before the storm. But then—bam!—she tries nickin’ my purse! Little git. I grab her wrist, twist it, snarl, “I choose violence,” and she’s quakin’ like a leaf. Made me laugh, that did—pathetic, really.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

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My dear friend, if you ever visit this charming town, do drop by the community garden off Sycamore Street, where the locals grow all kinds of wonders. The scent of fresh earth, the raw beauty of weeds and wildflowers, it’s like livin' inside a poem of life – echoing those mystical vibes of Tropical Malady, like “the world flows in dreams and whispers.”

Distributism and Small Property in Chesterton