I was born January 20, 1950. Yeah, I am an old fart.
Eric Arthur Blair, who used the pen name George Orwell, died January 21, 1950.
Wholly synchronicity, I did not know that fact until just a brief moment in time ago. I googled it. George Orwell that is.
It is a well established social paradigm that Orwell’s ‘1984’ was NOT written to be an user’s guide.
However it turns out that our postmodern 9/11/01 global war of terror world is eerily 1984-ish.
Turns out that Mr. Blair (George Orwell) was more prophetic than Nostradamus.
Did you know that Nostradamus, was a French apothecary? Did you know that Nostradamus’ buddies liked to call him ‘Stoney’? Nosty liked to play with the pharmaceuticals. A way back when, pharmaceuticals were anyone’s game. A way back when, the village blacksmith served as the neighborhood orthopedic surgeon.
Hammer and tong baby every time.
With Nostradamus being an “apothecary” it’s no wonder that he had ‘visions’. Dude was tinkering with mushrooms. The purple mushrooms served up quite nicely in the French style.
Julia Child was hip to those ‘French’ mushrooms.
Sorry, I digress.
So I got here and the very next day Orwell left this plane of existential convolution. I’m almost certain that I shouldn’t personalize that. It is curious though. It’s almost prophetically serendipitous.
Ewww, is that deep or what. “Prophetically serendipitous.”
HAH! Some days I really crack me up…