Lanes Monday, January 11 2010

How commonly do we, careening with mothspells and liquor, question our fate and damn our best-trained inquisitors for misknowing a thing that others have recognized as a technology of sagely worth?
Where, in my own eraplace, dragonette wood and mercury do all the work of cleaning, brightening, and configuring, it is thesimple minds of a lost moment that pour acetum )known here as White Vinegar) on their rags and massage away dreck and age of all kinds. How did this harlequin acid, this sourwater, this simple reagent of even the most common schoolboy's chemistry laboratory-parlor become forgotten and relegated to the role of minimal delicacy?
It is a consequence of the methods of travel used in different ages that the connections that might sustain a democracy of minds have failed to dutifully.
However, as Quip and others have conjectured, the profundity of a society will half the time belie the more amateurish sensibilities by which they are better known. Those who use Vinegar are the same that brush mess with brooms and mops, reservoirs of corrupted hormones though they are.