NAE CURSIN AN BLINDIN IN MA BAR
Hey, you a black swan then, sunny jim?
Na -- ma nan ostridge but
{I eat cold iron} ***
Buggar off then -- nae pookas in *my lexicon
R.
{For A.E.H,. prince of the Odium Philosh -- "If it ain't Terence, why eat it?" / OR / Feel free to spit on the cat and call the mat a bastard.}
[*** In case this is misconstrued, the speaker at this point is issuing a [lightly] coded warning rather than quoting Marianne Moore -- my publisher, for (copyright) legal seasons, insisted I insert this Health Warming.]
As to the subject line, well, think about it -- you couldn't really imagine this said on the Royal Mile, could you?
Deeply Specific Stuff, this is.
[The title, incidentally, in case no one noticed, or thought it original to me, is an allusion to a poem by Philip Hobsbaum in <I think> a volume titled _Coming Out Fighting_.
Annotated Alice. ]
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