execute order 66.

the month of the divine messaging system in overdrive continues and looks set to carry itself over to the next. it happens so much that it's seriously uncanny and no longer amusing. maybe if it happened to a lesser man or one who's not so accustomed to it (ok perhaps more of the latter than the former; i don't think i'm much of a 'more[or more-er cos less-lesser] man') the pumped-up fluids inside his brain will begin to push through his eyes cos of the pressure in his skull and lombardo will play the respective solo that's earned him his top 50 spot.

for example, and so i met this lady from a not-too-peachy past twice in a single week, at the same fucking place. ok so the recurrence of the venue takes 3 ticks off the uncanny meter, but it still is strange, considering - well just considering. the first time she did the nonchalant-looking-right-through-you-like-you're-constructed-wholly-from-perspex thing pretty well, considering (now, yes) how i had my staring-deep-into-your-eyes-like-you-owe-me-a-quarter-of-a-million-pounds thing going on, but she was caught with her pants down during the second time as we turned right into each other in our seats about 0.04 millimetres apart. i think i did that bemused half-smile to perfection but the poor dear couldn't take it as a gamut of emotions seized control in accordance with order 66 of her and her amazing brows which knitted half a sweater every this and other way cumulating at long last in a sort of a half smile as she struggled to regain control of her dallas maverick facial hair. and promptly fled to another table with her mate in record time. and demanded for her food to be served in record time. and wolfed down her meal in record time. and raised talismans all around her vicinity in record time. all the while with that smile frozen on her face of course, testament to the degree of shock hence experienced.

perhaps one will be moved now to think just what bovine turd i'm cooking up again, now, cos it ain't all that surprising to be faced with a flimsy coincidence. but it was the company i was in i guess. in particular, the nature of the species. and the means of interaction. i suppose i'm too established within the boundaries of my perceived stereotype that any deviation from it will be met with reactions of this sort.

and this is but one instance of reappearing apparitions of lives past. i wonder what the powers that be are trying to say this time. perhaps that i'll do well to bet on the heat to win after all cos i'd bumped into 3 men and 2 women over this period making up 5 and that's the number of playing players; and one of them i'd met eating shark's fin and the chinese commentators dub shaq 'shark'; and another i'd ran into queuing up at a betting centre and that's where you go when you uh want to place bets; and another had worn black that's the colour of the heat's home strip; and another was called stan and that's the name of the more successful van gundy; and this i met looked like she was in heat.