How to make a pretzel with gruel.

Justice. Mercy. Faithfulness.

The grandiosity of the giver.

The humbleness of the taker.

Freeing up the loins of services and monetary compensation. For the free society to take on the responsibilities resplendent with protection of the peasants they serve.

Cept’ no one is willing to eat the humble pie today. Here. There. Everywhere. Anywhere. It is difficult to admit to hunger when the mind wanders and worries about where the next meal will come from.

Couldn’t ‘ya just order a pizza? Or at least in joyful obedience, share a moral, a morsel, a tidbit? Might get things back on track. No one likes to admit they were wrong.

Justice. Mercy. Faithfulness.

A crumb?

In the hope of a divine blessing, of sorts?

Or, at least. A seat at the table….…

The Food Fights have begun. Again. The brown bags are flying off of the shelves in the hope of providing the fuel for the kidsters to think and add 1+1. The problem? Where to send the bill. Where, even to forward the bill. No one lives anywhere anymore.

The streets with no names house the persons with no names house the futures with no names house a society in disarray. Used to be an ordinary day was a welcome respite to the hustle and bustle of the bump and grind and the endless hours of sunlight with which to get the job done.

The beginning of an ordinary day could bring the rights of those to the table of righteousness. However, leaving others basking in the streets with no roof overhead and only a needle as their friend—how can one begin to choke anything down without a second thought? Was it, the street inhabitants chosen decision of the day. Just an ordinary piece of property—of poverty. Another day in the paradise of passersby. For the passersby to see. To gawk. There does come a time when,

”I don’t care anymore” turns from a whisper to a scream inside the head of a dweller of all things street-wise.

Decisions. decisions. There are different, how shall we say “fiscals” for the ancient times of when tithing began and when it ends. Should end anyway. When giving begins to cost more than the “reward.” The reward on the card that gripes and swipes with every bell and whistle and beautiful classical musical rendition.

Choke that one down.

Yes. The gruel slides down for some the same way an oyster might for others.

Slimey. Yucky. Not “this againingly” for those whose lives depended on it. Not first class. Not second class. Not even third class stuff worth downing.

Gruel was on the third-class menu of the Titanic on the eve of her sinking in April 1912. (wk)

Choke that one down. Before she sinks,

Bread was a luxury—eaten in the finest of places. The biggest of castles. Every man’s home is his castle. Today, in this years of our Lord, even this is being boundried and bound with the shackles of guilt. In the castles of our dreams.

”Please sir, may I have another?” One has to ASK for more of it—the gruel—when the stomach is empty and the chores proved insurmountable. Knock and enter only if announced what the intentions are—of entering the domain of another.

Moving into a new universe of subservience and false adulation is a frightening utopia, indeed. The rich get rich and the poor get poorer. The laws for the poor become extended into the middle class. With hope, the fervent hope the gruel can take shape. Into something of substance.

Of substance. Of something to “stick to the ribs” before they begin to show their emaciated hardness—poking out for the world to see.

In some places in the world, the U.K., the Poor Act was amendment in 1834.An Act intended to curb the cost of poor relief and address of the old system. Prevalent in southern agricultural counties, by enabling a new system to be brought in.(wk)

Hmmm.

Yum, yet?

Nope.

Not quite.

The new relief, albeit, it is hard pressed like a yummy baked pretzel may be into a workable, useable inclusive concept. The reality?

Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The implementation of the Poor Act proved impossible in ways both large and small. Hungry people do not have the energy to move about the area, much less the cabin. And. It is often too costly to move the paupers.

Conundrum.

Fast forward to the new food pyramid! Hurray. Now. We are talking about all things pretzel.

You say you want a revolution. We are all doing what we can.

But are we? Are you? Are we?

Jumping into the pool too quickly. Running to the pool party like there is no tomorrow because tomorrow is becoming a dicey array of choice of gruel, porridge and slop.

Running to the party. Grabbing the hand of another. Twisting by the pool in an attempt we can do it and then falling head first into the water because of weakness and denial.

When was the last time ye had a holiday? An invitation to the dance. Had the motivation to twist and bend in accordance with others just to belong. With an empty stomach and a smile on your face? When the cost of a loaf of bread, finely baked, costs quadruple the price it used to.

Choke that one down. Throwing caution and responsibility to the wind in the interest of keeping up. Twisting, bending and stretching into oblivious manic.

Dire circumstances cause dire dancing moves cause a need to vacate or staycate. Look the other way for the answer.

Close the eyes to what is reality, deny, pretend all is euphoric?…….

”We’re going on a holiday now

Gonna take a villa, a small chalet

On the Costa del Magnifico

Where the cost of living is so low

Yeah, we’re gonna be so neat

Dance to the Eurobeat

Yeah, we’re gonna be so cool

Twisting by the pool

Sitting in a small cafe now

Swing, swing, swingin to the cabaret

You wanna see a movie, take in a show now

Meet new people at the disco

Yeah, we’re gonna be so neat

Dance to the Eurobeat

Yeah, we’re gonna be so cool

Twisting by the pool

And we can still get information

Learning all about inflation

And you’re never gonna be out of reach

There’s a call-box on the beach.

Mmm, you’re gonna look so cute

Sun glasses and bathing suits

Be the baby of my dreams

Like the ladies in the magazine

Yeah, we’re gonna be so neat

Dance to the Eurobeat

Yeah, we’re gonna be so cool

Twisting by the pool

I’m a twisting fool

Just twisting, yeah twisting

Twisting by the pool.

Am I the fool?

Are you? The fool.

Dizzyness sets in and a look around with wonder….

Hey, Who took my pretzel?

Was it ever really here?

Was it a wishful mirage?

Perhaps I was blind. Blinded.

By the bright lights and the twisting turns.

There are no easy answers.🥨🥨