Clearing mist, A lust for blood and the end of the world.

After what would seem an age in itself the chaos has started to subside, there is illumination at the top of the well and I can fully begin my ascent once more, not so much a fall on this occasion but a retreat, an enforced journey into an uncertain realm which until this point has left me with deep insecurities and a veil that has somewhat hidden the path from view.
The mists are clearing before the eyes as I head toward the light, order is starting to return as the great serpent stretches his coils beneath the earth of our land, the troublesome vermin run for the safety of their own nests as the hunter steps into the bright light of day once more, there is great change within the serpents wake, yet I am ready to accept it and all that it will bring.

2012 shall indeed be the end of this world, not the paranoid delusions peddled by ignorant conspirators but a new beginning, for that to happen something needs to die and death will force change in no small measure, what that will be I cannot see, yet in my heart I know that it will come and the masses shall rise as the great leveller takes its toll, perhaps 2012 shall be known as the year the world changed for the better- we shall see!

The Twelve days were for us a truly mixed bag of blessings and curses, time was spent with dearest of kin yet others were sorely missed, insects were biting at the skin and although no great wounds were struck the ache and the itch were at times unendurable, threats to much beloved family members left this one with an insatiable lust for blood yet wiser council bade me keep my sword together with that of my brothers within its sheath (for now at least). Our financial circumstances changed in no small way when the work dried up, not unexpected yet an uncertain future on that level which does leave us free to pursue new and old Ideas.
Still we journey on, and all serves its purpose, stronger and with renewed vigour we face the world head on, as the end of one thing heralds brighter beginnings, the chance for a new start in many ways, plans and projects that had to go upon the back burner can resurface and I for one have found great joy in this prospect.

Plough Monday has passed and gone, this one spent the day quite literally as the vegetable patch was in need of some tender loving care, financial security has made me idle upon that front so change again forces a valuable reconnection to the land, the soil turned and the labours of Cain have prepared the ground and greenhouse for a hopeful bounty in the leaner times to come.
Many agricultural customs still have those roots within the traditional craft, the actual doing aids the soul and the mind in an understanding of the subtleties and reasons for them, although Horse drawn team and garlanded plough were replaced by eager woodsman,spade and fork, the task of turning soil and feeding the earth becomes a greater ritual that is indeed reflected within the heavens as the old man pushes his own plough across the sky, That in itself brings strength to the back and much joy to the heart.
Plough Monday CTC- this is an article well worth a read if there is any confusion between the Craft and Agricultural traditions.

As we head toward the rites of Candle mass, Imbolc, call it what you will, there are still sacrifices to be made before we can properly emerge from the dark, dead weight to shift from our lives and sins to be absolved, from now to that time when we can finally shed our skins it is worth considering all that which would hamper our forward motion and stop us from evolving, those things that pull us back and make us as rooted as plants, we are the children of Cain after all, I love the forest dearly as every hunter does, yet I am not a tree I am a man and I need to move along the path, as much as I would enjoy the vista I cannot stay and watch it become overgrown as would seem to be the way for the many.

So Journey on we must, and to all who happen upon this Cunning page, a Happy new year to you, may it bring great change and many blessings in the time to come, but remember, all things must die and it is that fragile nature of life that makes it so perfect, divine teacher of souls that grants us joy in every tender moment, if we open our hearts, our spirits and our eyes.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Damp feet, Misguided intentions and the wearing of masks.

Wind riders haunt the night and day, warm and wet or cold and wet, the Cornish landscape oozes liquid as she can hold no more, stark contrast to this time twelve moons ago, when blessed Celeste radiant in the night sky danced her magic upon crisp white snow, the gentle crunch underfoot replaced by the squelch and slide that persists now, to glimpse that radiant light a treat to behold yet in truth we walk a dark path at this time, so perhaps the cloud displays the lesser mask, a greater focus than the heavenly distractions of her light, as we descend into this period of chaos and misrule, the world upside down.

This time alone, beneath the mask of covered stars should serve to teach us to look beyond, for it is a fool in the worst sense that cannot taste the lunar virtue for lack of visual stimulus, within that time there is no sight greater than that insight which is granted by the heart and the soul, perceivers of truth and honesty, where the eyes may be fooled the inner self knows true gnosis.

The same could be said of those who would wear masks within the mundane world of existence, those who would deceive the onlooker, enchanting facades that hide true intentions and perhaps hidden agendas, a mask of falsities and deception that is only paper thin, yet bedazzles the onlooker into a world where choices are no longer theirs to make!

Beware the one who would wear such a mask, look beyond the glamour and straight into the eyes of the soul, it is there that lies the true face, it may be that of a frightened spirit which hides through fear and not malice, it may be malice itself.

Tread carefully in the company of one who would walk over all to achieve that desire, masked or otherwise, it is never through need that any would cause another to suffer pain, hedonism is the foulest of human traits and empathy one of the greater, they are opposites in the extreme and one who would display either should be incapable of the other, less they wear a mask.

Avoid one who would threaten the peaceful existence of another in any way in order to achieve their goals, veiled or open, to curse another without true cause is to bring down the sword of justice heavy and sharp against the neck, watch those scales and see how they fall or be prepared to take the consequences.

And now to gaze upon those masks of truth, the guise perhaps worn by those families and lone shaman of the world, a facade that does not hide the undesirable aspects of mankind, yet projects hidden qualities toward the onlooker, hidden aspects of the Crafter's nature are externalised to allow the individual and the rest of the company to connect to that aspect, to bring it out not to hide behind.
I have worn such a mask, the effect is astounding and quite desirable, others may perceive qualities that are subdued at other times allowing trust and truth to blossom among the group, we are what we are and nothing is hidden from kith and kin before the hearth or at any other time, the mask serves to remind the individual of this very fact.

So do I myself wear a mask of deception in any sense? the answer is No, what you see you get, I would as you know place integrity before much else, honesty before lies every time, I would not seek to council another but I will offer advice if pushed, if my council you will seek, then expect the truth in return, do not wear a mask at your approach for it is no more than a lie and if we are to start there then the harvest will be a barren one, I have my own concerns in the world and wish not to be troubled with another's unless that other comes with all I hold dear and not that which I would despise.

I guess this brings me to a close for now, the echos of children asking, Do witches have warts ? Well no more frequently than any not of the faith, do we accept each other warts and all? Absolutely, we would expect no less from Family, If you wish me to wear a mask, then I shall remove myself and my warts from your company, as I do not choose to have acquaintances, dear friends are family and family are as dear friends and those I would count as such are very dear to me.

A merry yule to all (now I have got that one of my chest).

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

The longest night, searching the soul and the wise council of the oracle.

Photo by Christine Macleod

To rise before the sun is no hardship as we head into the darker times of the year, the winds they whistle the tune of Odin and the wild ones, rain beats its steady rhythm upon the glass of our home and thoughts of facing the day rise to the forefront of our minds well before the glorious light of morning graces the land with its presence if not its warmth.

The last blooms of summer now blow upon the winter storms, yet if by chance we search the green a rare gem may still be found, bright scarlet lies amongst natures decay, tattered and torn yet as food for the spirit manifest we rejoice at its sight, a reminder, all things must pass, death is but a journey into the new world.
The progression of all things is marked at some point by an end of sorts, to continue along the path and into gnosis there are many pieces of ourselves that must die in order that there may be many to bear fruit in future times, just as those trees and plants that would appear dead to us now shall bear bloom and seed when the warmth of our sun graces them with its radiance once more.
Parts of who we were become as nutrient to that which grows, an end of a kind but not a random discarding of spiritual landfill, who we are is shaped by what we have been, would you change any thing of the past? I would not, for I would not have become who I am today, if but one thing could have been discarded, tears and cruelty, hedonistic behaviour, compromise beyond need, I could not have grown as all joy or sorrow serves its ultimate purpose within that forge, atop the anvil and beneath the hammer of that old blacksmith of the soul, we are remade of that which we once were. The trials of life are as fuel to the artisans fire.

Now that the light of day is short and joyous evening strolls among the flying (sometimes biting) insects and deep magenta sky are all but forgotten, minds within the Craft turn to work of a different nature, moments out and about become less frequent and time spent in thought and meditation more so, Many questions are answered and many more questions bubble to the surface from the depths of the great well, attempting to bring order to the chaos within we muse upon subjects plucked from the ether or riddles set by another.
There is one subject so often over looked yet quoted in disposable fashion by all within the occult community ( including this one), hiding within plain site yet rarely dealt with in truth, a sleeping dragon left unchecked, that once counselled-Gnothi seauton- Know Thyself, the wise warning to the foolish ego that was herald to the Oracle of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.

This very task, given by those who would aid me within my own evolution was one I have undertaken recently, the questions of who I am and where have I come from, what was I and what do I hope to become, not feeding the ego, but placing all in order and calming those turbulent waters within, to befriend this sleeping Dragon and not to have to tip toe around it or attempt to bury it beneath a pile of delusional thought, to truly Know Thyself is the goal, to move forward safe in the knowledge that no angry serpent will engulf you in its flame in future times.
Modern social conditioning does reflect in this journey into the depths, those buried thoughts and emotions, the worst of the self are the first to rise to the surface, emotional tears accompany every mistake made within the time of our short existence, unworthy of life, of consideration, foulest of beings to inhabit this earth, detritus, just another inconsiderate consumer of the resources of the world, but wait, this is not some examining of everything you hate about yourself, it takes time, hours in fact, to truly search the soul.

A death of sorts through realisation has taken place, the worst now dealt with, sweet blooms start to push their way up through the soil of the spirit, those joys of life, what you are truly capable of, those beloved by you and of those who of you yourself are beloved, triumphs that soon over shadow those past failures as the molten metal of you is slowly poured into the mould of who you will become, to be once more tempered and made strong within the fires of this hell.

I am the hunter,The protector.
I am not vengeance,
but I may wield the sword of justice.
I may become Tracker and Guide,
but do not follow me blindly.
Watch,
Learn from the mistakes I have made,
and will make.

This forest belongs to me,
yet it is never mine to own.
It is not the fertile loam that is the key,
for upon that lies a mask.
It is not the majestic oak that is the key,
for that giant too wears a mask.
All truth lies upon the wind.

To glimpse for just one second,
that which would hide beneath.
A key of shining gold.
Perhaps there shall become a chance,
to touch upon that rare metal.
To gaze upon the hidden realms,
to walk in the world of giants.

This crooked path through the forest,
plain to see for those with the eye,
when distractions fade and truth will out.
Yet beautiful they are.
Embrace them fully,
feel the warmth they exude.
Relish the love they bring.


The longest night in this ones life, born of need and not desire I am remade, I feel that in my own heart that at this time I do in fact Know myself, I am me and happy to be me, I sit on the Dragons own hoard warmed by the sighing breath of my new friend and safe in the knowledge of who it is I am.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

A setting sun and A Star crossed serpent.

The sun sets upon another chapter of the life and journey of this would become "Cunning" man.
What appears alikened to that death of summer is with hope and faith a birth of something far greater than anything of which I could have wished to have known.
This once lonely soul that attempted to grace the pages of the Internet with wild grasps at wisdom and knowledge is no longer such, since first sitting here, trying to find the answers that prior to this voyage eluded me there have been so many changes,so many more questions, each door leads to a corridor filled with more doors, yet the answers come, with guidance certainly, but upon the winds as gifts from the divine in most, the mentors work is not to tell the student, it is to point him/her in the right direction so that the enquiring mind may discover the truths for them selves, there are no secrets to those who would listen to the wind.
I have found true faith, love and family, I am able to move through the worlds with far greater ease than ever before, even though at this time I walk the edge, I fear not the drop, for there is the fabric of wyrd that shall gather me home and place me exactly where I need to be.

Faith in fate and a willingness to evolve the soul are the keys to the doors of eternity, these things will not be found within the pages of a leather bound grimoire, although the clues may lie within the pages, an illiterate being (not an ignorant one) would still be able to find the light as is often seen within the tribal societies upon our blue planet. In truth there are many intellectual occultists out there, so bound up within the tangled threads of their own egos that they will perhaps never glance toward the source or be touched by those perfect threads.
Our Craft ancestors were a simple folk, many could not write or read letters yet the Craft survived, symbols and pictures, rhyme and song gave substance and solidity to our forefathers, if many of those blessed souls were to stumble upon any of the nonsense that proliferates through the esoteric societies they would perhaps see only kindling for the hearth and no wisdom at all.
Yet we live within a mostly literate society, words have replaced symbols in many ways yet still they exist, always hiding in plain sight, there is a great deal of fuel for the fire being produced yet there are some true gems that will be understood on many levels by both prince and pauper.
These gems are like buses, you don't see one for a while, then two or three come at once.

Star crossed Serpent vol1 -Shani Oates.

Another long awaited gem of wisdom from the Maid of the Clan of Tubal Cain.
Shani has always given those true seekers of knowledge her time, wisdom and patience, and this is once more revealed in this first volume which I again have been privileged to read prior to publication.
It contains material by three successive generations of the Clan, Robert Cochrane, Evan J Jones and of course Shani herself, there is also a rare gem of a piece written by the Current Magister of the Clan- Robin The Dart. Some of this material has previously been published yet it has not really been edited correctly in those publications, so I would say, forget much of which you know of RC an EJJ's writings available in other books and read this which has been edited correctly and with the correct authority to do so. The reader will find that it makes far more sense than previously.
I will not elude to the various chapters contained for at this time I am unsure as to what is contained within this volume, although I will say that it is marvelous to see the evolution of this closed group through the successive generations, all things must move forward and evolve or become stale and die, this book acknowledges the stream from which it came in no small way, yet it shows how the participants look very much to the future and embrace the craft as a constantly growing, moving and living thing.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us Shani, it is much appreciated.


Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Need fire and a fool at the end of the world

It is beyond the chimes of midnight, a single Hawk calls to his brother upon the chill night air, eyes look up from the dancing flames in awe, recognition of all that has come to pass as a soul returns to its hearth, its family, to take its place among those much beloved, to stand once more between the worlds along side brother and sister of the faith, all is as it should be in this time and is welcome.

So the journey ends.

A Once shattered soul, now piece by piece reassembled, forged anew within the healing fires of the old man himself, deconstructed and remade, stronger and maybe wiser than before, each end heralds a fresh start, a new life, change and growth, the serpent that once hid within the shadows to avoid this gaze now resides in part within the spirit of this ever hopeful wanderer, a child of Cain, a son of Odin, touched by she who waits upon the parting of ways, dazzled by Sophia's light and humbled by the wisdom of dearest Lilith, guided by the divine she and gathered home again.
This Holy fool, blessed indeed, to take his place with kith and kin at that table within the castle of the king, that once lonely call answered at last.

Arab springs and Indian summers have passed, as the coming of winter now wraps at the door of our home, it would seem an age since I sat here last and attempted to place words where there are only thoughts, a personal journey requires time to the self, reflections, perhaps not always to be shared with others, matters for those with the means to discover for themselves and see the value that lies therein, one cannot walk the paths in another's shoes, one can only trace the footsteps of their passing, there is little value in reaching a destination without knowing how it was you arrived, wisdom is found upon the journey as much as it resides at journeys end, wherever that may be.

Yet there is one thing of which I will speak, if it would save the traveller from the thorns and the mire of the winding paths and that is of unification.

We walk between the worlds, we do not have to jump from one to the other, to bring the sacred to the mundane is the key and vice versa, this life is not always easy, but when we bring together those often considered dual aspects of the self (work/spirituality) all becomes clearer, the wild ride of the roller coaster becomes the steady pace of the locomotive, yes there are stops and delays but with fate driving the engine we will arrive safely, smoothly and with fewer pitfalls, the roller coaster has no destination after all, it only ends up at the point it started from with its passengers feeling sick. One life lived is far simpler than two, to juggle these aspects is distracting so we need to bring it all together. this often overlooked reality has been one of the most important keys for this one within the time that you and I have known each other.

There are of course those poor deluded souls who see only misery and destruction, shadows and pain within the other realms, and to consolidate these into the mundane world will only bring about the same there, to look beyond the shadow and lift the veil is the answer, as where there is end there is beginning also, deep shadows are cast by bright lights after all, if all that can be seen is darkness then the blinkers need to be taken off, as I for one have seen sights that continue to amaze me, I have found love, light and Gnosis when I have gazed into the well, there is no hate or pain, the rose blooms bright within the ashes of the fire, we reap what we sow and if we take filth into the void then we will return with filth as a reward.

Well, the chimney at our hearth will not sweep itself, so off I must go, each stroke of the brush shall clean the soot from the blackened stone, dark matter cleansed from home and life, all that would have troubled this one in the past year shall be swept away, the fire shall burn with renewed vigour and there shall be warmth in our home.

And All is Exactly as it Should Be.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

The accidental Life of an Anarchist and the death of Faith.

Artwork by kind permission of Joolz Denby Cover of the album Carnival by New model army.

"And it's not where you're from or where you've been
It's not a matter of blood or of family tree
Everybody believes what they want to believe
But they come from some kind of refugee
Running from something, turned out of somewhere
All looking for somewhere, exiled from something
And no one's really sure if this is home" Justin Sullivan/NMA-BD3

A part of my soul soars high upon the thermal currents, within those last throws of summer, thought and memory call out above the final cutting of hay as it desperately tries to dry out in time for those leaner months, sustenance for the beasts that would feed upon the fallen, taken by the blades of the cutting machine before it in turn returns to its own dusty shelter, to await the warm winds of April days when once more it shall reap the green.
Turning tides reflected upon the horizon, a fractured sky of crimson and slate, the last days of bounty, glorious, radiant and rich, announcing a fond farewell to the winds of the south and a welcome once again to the northern bite, those who would take rest in this land called back to hearth and home, perhaps to return at another time to this land of self discovery for those with the wit to look.

Fires burn in every part of this world, a time of deep unrest across the globe bought about by the human desires for food, oil, narcotic substances and what the neighbours have, fueled by desire, greed and religious doctrine, those who would seem to have lost their way try to show a sign that they are the guardians of faith even though it has in truth been lost to them, if it was even theirs to lose in the first instance, books are burned when perhaps they should be read, an atheist pope preaches doom and finality, unable to see the light due to the darkness that is spouted from the mouths of the desperate, as religion starts to wither and die, the way of all things that will not nurture and grow.

This one has never been a fan of any religion in the organised sense, I favour free thought and freedom of choice where fate will allow, so I for one shall not morn its passing, this does not mean that I myself am not religious, for I have faith and it grows and blossoms daily and I fear the end of this religious age a great deal.
It is often argued that doctrine creates a moral compass for those who adhere to it and there indeed lies a truth, for many people do not have morality and justice as natural virtues and adherence to a belief will instill in part this shortcoming in human nature, without some kind of faith civilisation will fall apart and it is now that we are seeing the cracks.
To live within a secular society is fine for most, yet there is an element that is unable to govern itself from a morality perspective, science daily steps over the line in favour of "because we can" and not asking "if we should?", greed and jealousy would have the individual covet that which belongs to another later to take by force that which is desired, shallow trappings of the modern world that would actually deny Darwin his theory and not perpetuate it, backward evolution through technological advancement, and to turn backwards is to become extinct.
So we have the tenets of the Abrahamic faiths, set upon the path to bring order to the masses, then, because of the failure to grow, adapt and evolve finally bringing about the destruction of those very same peoples, only a theory but all things may pass in time.

Personal responsibility, a true sense of morality and justice, these things I would hold close to my heart, goals attained through honour and Integrity, not to ever treat another in a way that I Myself would not wish to be treated. I shall not Kill, steal or commit sins upon another, not through law or doctrine, but because it serves no purpose to do so, to treat another as I myself would wish to be treated is my only law, and one I am happy to be bound by.
There have been many Oaths taken and perhaps yet to be taken, as such made or to be made by my own choice and not imposed upon me, I have agreed to be bound by such and will always be so, free by my own choice and not forced by another, free to walk away at any point if I so do choose guided by morality.

This life long Anarchist is bound only by his own laws and by his own moral compass, a freeborn man free to make the correct choices to the best of his ability, yes I have made mistakes, we all do, they are lessons to be learned from and often painful ones, but only if we are prepared to take personal responsibility for them do we continue to move forward along the path, we cannot always pass the buck on our own shortcomings and sometimes it is only ourselves to blame. If all people regardless of background were to accept this premise then the fires of this world would wither and die like the faith of Abraham's legacy, one day to assume the title of that "old religion", that is if there is anyone left to acknowledge it.

There is warning here, hiding in plain sight for those who would set themselves as up as the ones to follow, gurus and would be wise ones, look to the future and do not make the mistakes your fathers made, grow and nurture , for there is nothing to be achieved by standing still or rolling about in the mud like your ancestors, be wise and evolve with the time or like the tall grass you shall be felled and trodden underfoot.

"All these things you fear so much depend on angles of vision
From down in the maze of walls you can't see what's coming
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing" Justin Sullivan/NMA- High.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Artwork by kind permission of Joolz Denby Cover of the album High by New model army.

Autumn wind, a Beautiful daze and what price is Integrity.

Autumn's cold chill starts to bite, when solar rays deign to bless our skin with warmth we are quick to dismiss the coming of colder times, yet come they must. Even in the clearer Sky's of dawn, the ground wet with morning dew, the ones who would sleep under canvas covers find moisture rich and soaking through to the skin, sticking to the walls of their homes and bringing damp and discomfort to poorly prepared feet as the grass is trodden underfoot, hope springs eternal that the last vestiges of the summer sun will heat body and soul.
Soon the Geese will come and the swallows depart, wild hunts have made the first of their forays into the night sky, Thor's own hammer sounds the changing of the guard, bright flashes scar the sky as winter's grip makes its preparation to take back its own, dark days and chilly evenings around a blazing hearth, solice for the witch's soul as we too reclaim the night.

What is it that makes us who we are, what forms our earthly lives, brings shape to what we are to become, the lessons we learn, the influences we take, we are but clay figures to be shaped and formed by Fate and circumstance. From raw earth we become unique beings, reflections of the gods, we are products of our surroundings, sponges that soak up that which our own souls require, we seek out good company, hold friends as family and we are touched by thoughts and ideas that are already familiar to our inner selves.
We are the vessel, the journey and the destination, if we listen to our spirit then we will never fail, if we are to blindly follow we find our selves on the path to ruin and disappointment.

In all aspects of life there are those who fail to listen to the inner voices, those who would follow the crowd. To accept the world as it is with rose tinted glasses and blinkers, never to question the whys and wherefore's of this or any other existence, Ignorance is indeed bliss for the masses yet still they search, often unrealised, for some small part of the divine truth, to belong to that which the heart would yearn for if the ears could shut out the clamouring voices of a failing civilisation.
The Dream catcher, the rose quartz crystal and the lucky charm, all devices the ignorant may seek out in an attempt to grab something of the spiritual, this is not anger at these affairs, only sadness at the way so many wont let themselves become whole, to be satisfied with small trinkets in an illconcieved nod to the heavens, an insurance against the fact that True Faith has become something that mocked and derided within an increasingly secular land, they know there is truth beyond the walls but would not really want to find or declare a belief.

I have been reminded of this fact, (which is not exclusive to those who would walk an esoteric path) by a pleasant visit to a festival in the heart of Devon. Four glorious days among my own tribe, music and merriment shared with family and like minded people. The Festival originally set up by the Punk/Folk Anarchists- The Levellers, the spirit of the nineties, born out of Thatchers Britain. In those days we were shaped and formed by the things around us, we became as stone, immovable objects that would not be swayed by the establishment and the promise of wealth if we were to behave, always to wave two fingers at the man and not afraid to take direct action against those who threaten our freedoms, or the boys in blue that would beat down the doors of our homes to silence that voice, and there we were, twenty years later, as solid as we were then and stronger in numbers as our own offspring bought into the world now stand beside us.
Yet among the shaved heads, the Mohican haircuts and a sea of tattooed bodies, there are those who did tow the line, those who became as slaves to society, desperate to touch what they know in their hearts is something pure and incorruptible, to stand along side the true defenders of freedom and liberty, to believe in an integrity that they once sold to the Man, they did not listen to their souls and now they pay the price, it has been said that"it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the gates of heaven", and now the penny drops as the masses once more grab and grasp at that which is lost to them, Monday will be back to the mill and social ideology can go back into the cupboard for another year.
Sad statements to be sure, but this poor man refuses to give up that one thing that they cannot take, cunning man or deluded fool, you decide but my integrity stands tall, can you all say the same.

So as in the mundane world we see the way in which those who have sold integrity try to lay claim to that which is lost to them, sadly the same is true in the occult world, the work should stand for itself and clearly within some circles it does not, the answer would be to try and detract from the truths in favour of the mans own lies, power corrupts, it is time that certain people should take off the blinkers and glasses and try to find some thing that works, although it is commonly believed that certain activities of which certain groups enjoy, will indeed necessitate the use of spectacles due to poor sight, an unfortunate side effect.

We are old, we are young, we are in this together
Vagabonds and children, prisoners forever
With pulses a-raging and eyes full of wonder
Kicking out behind us again
(Justin Sullivan, NMA)

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.