Ubiquitous

u·biq·ui·tous

 
Adjective
Present, appearing, or found everywhere: “his ubiquitous influence”.
 
Synonyms
omnipresent
 
 
As in the cold weather in London, morons in this world, poor judgment & love – all ‘ubiquitous.’
 
 
I went to the Royal Horticulture Society’s “London Spring Fair Late” (http://www.rhs.org.uk/Shows-Events/News/RHS-London-Spring-Fair-Late)  yesterday. It was a typically posh British affair. Which means…people were drunk and insecticides and compost made for the most riveting conversational topics. There were 5-7 types of flowers and the Family Von Trapp yodelled late into the evening. Okay, so it wasn’t that bad, but it was a let down. I try to blame the weather for the lack of (hothouse) blooms. I did see some lovely flowers and took some photographs (which I hope to be able to use at some point if Wordsworth was right, the 25 different types of daffodils will help dispel the general gloom of the show.) Maybe it took being labelled (taunted?) as a photographer of flowers to make me want to click the people at the do more… or then again, maybe it was the 50s style garden party frocks and the “ubiquitous” lack of flowers. :| (Pretty sure that’s not correctly used, but I had to.)
 
 
Anyway, I recently rediscovered Dylan Thomas. And this is what he has to say to you:
 
 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

 
 
 
 
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