Friday, 29 July 2016

So Called Thoughts

A few wisps of something vaguely resembling thought have been drifting through my head as I go about my business in these rather unsettling times.

For instance, after unavoidably glimpsing a picture of a blonde US politician who always appears to be on the brink of exploding, overcome by an inner volcano of rage and irrational hatred, it struck me that describing someone as "self-contained" is peculiar, in that it would be fairly dreadful if we weren't all adequately contained within our own skins. I mean, just imagine the alternative.

Following this peculiar revelation, in order to cleanse my mind of the glimpsed image I went out for a country walk. Not perhaps entirely disconnectedly, it then occurred to me how odd it is that humans are the only creatures I know of that can't eat any old thing, no matter how raw it is, regardless of whether it is fly-ridden or muddy or whatever. Hygiene doesn't seem to be important for a cow or a crow. I say" not entirely disconnectedly" because the thought of such creatures, having eaten their dirty foodstuffs, being unself-contained is an even less attractive one than the thought of unself-contained humanity.

To distract myself from all these unsavoury prospects, I sat down on a bench and sent some utterly unnecessary emails. I did this purely to hear that lovely whooshing sound emails make when you send them from a telephone. Is it just me, or is it very cheering, on a par with the rustle of an emptying electronic wastebin, but far more readily available? Whoosh, whoosh, gosh, does it really matter that the world is on the brink of who knows what, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

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