It wouldn't be so bad if some of them came true from time to time.
Well, the end-of-the-world ones would be pretty bad, obviously, but they never do, come true.
They're all, or almost all, from other times when we knew so much less about how things work and what it might be reasonable to predict amongst other things.
Talking of predictions, I really should have predicted that Gregos would become one of the best known street artists in the city, about three or four years ago when he was just getting going with his faces on the walls of Paris.
The one we're looking at here is perfectly official - he's moved over! - above a prestigious gallery sign in the Place des Vosges, of all places. I guess you could say he's arrived.
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Gregos has done it; I haven't. At least not to my knowledge. Not that I'm screaming for fame - far from it - but I am hoping that peope like my ramblings about Paris and photos and occasionally the more personal musings.
I've got it; I have to be dead. Then my true genius will be surely recognised. I'd better start preparing my kids right now. Being the son or the daughter of... is often a difficult experience and I wouldn't want them to suffer from it.
Maybe I'll tone down my outpourings and reduce my output; take it easy for a bit, quoi.
Maybe I'm losing it faster than I thought. Maybe that's Gregos pointing down at my writings and helping me understand their true worth. Maybe tomorrow none of this will matter. Is that a plane outside I hear or the rumble of an approaching asteroid? Maybe the Great Spaghetti Monster in the sky theory is true. Maybe I'm gonna live forever. Maybe I've said enough. Maybe. I'll tell you tomorrow. Or not.
And why not...