I look though the glass to our green garden and itz orange flowers and remember living elsewhere, another time another place i guess, and i find eyem surprised as to how i came to reside inna jazzy house with two loud bitch beagles and a loving, wonderful wife named Moo Moo . . . there was no plan, i suppose i took a Right Turn in mah twenties and ended up in fairyland.
. . . and here the four ones are; myself inna small dining room typing nonsense onto a narrow screen as Moo Moo reads a paperless read by the bay window with our two small September Gurls for company, and i know if eyed planned this present in my teens eyed find myself in fiasco.
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“But how do you get there?” asked the child. “Do you get there by walking to the hills and going over?
“That is what no one can tell you,” said I. “If people knew how it was done everybody would do it, but the whole point of losing your way is that you do it by mistake. You must be quite certain that you have not lost your way or it is no good. You walk along, and you walk along, and you wonder how long it will be before you get to the town, and then instead of getting to the town at all, there you are in Fairyland.”