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I was skinny and fast, fleeting before the Whatnot, darting, dodging, looping back, double my track, a fear of fear for the fun of it. Fear is fun if it is safe. It could happen, but chances are. What are the chances ? Need some calculation here. Well actually need calculation up the yazoo of not-happen.
Back in London again. I got into Dublin last Tuesday. I stayed only long enough to buy a pipe and a magazine. There is only one car ferry a day back to England, so I took it. Went across to Holyhead. Slept just outside the city and continued next day.
Ireland was wind and green. It was white stone ruin, the bones of one-time dwellings
perhaps abandoned in the potato famine. It was hilly and treeless stark, cloud scuttled in often gray skies, nothing much worth stopping for. I didn't go along the coast which would have been more interesting because it would have taken to long. I more or less circled around Ireland but inland.
Whatnot is what-doan-happen, like not-now lightening. Whatnot is anything you like, nothing too definite, things to watch-out for, things to feel. I feel-it-coming. I don't-know how, but somehow; I am changing my tact. "What does the little man inside tell you ?" "My little man is an idiot". I am driving into it. I am what-I-can, driving into the wind-driven, but forgiving and negotiable, what-I-can and what-not.
What will my Whatnot be like ? I dedicate my life to Whatnot. Whatnot says go-there. Whatnot says do-this. Whatnot says follow-me. Whatnot says do or-else. No doubt Whatnot is a lord and master. That's a given of the condition of life. I don't mind the game of Whatnot. Actually it is quite fun.
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