We love the Phunk: Part Deux

I wonder why blogger sees fit to alert me (Afam) whenever I (Afam) comment on a post. It is quite unlikey that I have forgot (forgotten) that I just commented on a post on my blog not up to 2 minutes ago. Regardless it is important that we congratulate blogger for their efficiency.

On to more important matters. A few months ago I posted something phunky on here, about phunks being dispelled by incorrigible Americans jumping on tables. It may come as no surprise to you that that solution is as impractical as it is temporary. One can hardly be expected to carry an American in your pocket at all times (I wish this were the case for I would carry a certain J.P in my pocket at all times. I think this would make a good story).

If you are so unfortunate as to find yourself in a phunk that has been conjured up by the universe for reasons unknown then pause, help is on the way. Firstly it is important to say that being of a melancholic disposition myself I understand full well what you're going through. The phunk is like a god. We unlucky, unhappy few who have been visited by it are made completely aware of it. Even when it is not currently with us, we stand withdrawn, watching, waiting for it's return. On the one hand we dread it but on the other we long for it. When it is with us we are made aware of it's presence the moment we wake up, and every other second of the day. We know that any time not spent servicing the beast will likely free of us of its hold, but still, we cling to it. Like the pagans who worshiped Baal we're willing to burn with it. At the same time we long for release. We're completely blinded by it. To those on the outside looking in you're standing right in front of the exit, but to you, you're so far gone that you can no longer remember a time when it wasn't there with you. You turn to sleep as you would Lethe. You look for temporary escapes from your prison, ephemeral holidays from the hard work you've been doing maintaining this self imposed Pharaoh. When Lethe fails you, you look to Nightshade, Wolfs' Bane and Yew for the final sleep. It's only then that you realize that had you ignored any of the compulsions of the phunk, the end might have been different.

Just like that I added Keats to my summer reading list. I don't know whether to pat myself on the back or box my ears. But I've been doing a lot of personal ear boxing so I think this time I'll give myself the softest pat on the back.

Happy Days,

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