Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Random musings

I don't understand dancing. Neither do I understand writing. But that doesn't seem to stop me.

Logical conclusion: I should dance more.
Further conclusion: Logic wants me to do things I hate.
Ultimate conclusion: Screw logic.

Walnuts: kind of tasty
Towels: not as tasty as walnuts
Sandpaper: not so great for drying yourself.

Inference that can be drawn from all of the above: I still haven't got anywhere with the latest piece I'm supposed to be writing. Harumph.

UPDATE: The piece referred to above had to be in by the 6th, so I did get it done. We had to write something under the title "Metamorphosis." Here it is¬

They say people grow to resemble their pets. I have no pets. Thus, I have never grown to resemble anything much. I am featureless, more or less. A tad inconvenient, I’m sure you must be thinking. And yes, people often do just look straight through me. Fortunately, it also holds true that you are what you eat, or I would barely be noticeable at all.

At present, I have taken on the form of a cheese sandwich; to outside observers, at least. To be precise, two cheese sandwiches, a donut and a cup of coffee. You see, it was lunch time just a few minutes ago, and I was a mite hungry. Being a cheese sandwich is a precarious business, though. Well, I don’t imagine that I need to spell out the perils. They’re pretty obvious.

The key thing to remember, I have found, when taking on food form is to only eat what you know those around you cannot stomach. Also, avoid anywhere that animals might be able to access; unless you have a burning desire to spend the day passing through the digestive tract of a dog. Granted, it was a memorable experience. Certainly memorable enough that I don’t feel any uncontrollable urge to repeat it. But not one that I think is essential to anyone’s existence. Unless, perhaps, he or she happens to be a vet. I'm sure a vet would benefit no end from a day spent inside a dog. Any animal, really. In fact, I might swallow a pen and paper when I get home and write to the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons.

Yes, I have a home. I swallowed a rich person once and bought one. And very nice it is too. As was he.

It also holds true that people see what they want to. Again, pretty handy, really. It makes me very popular. So many people have seen their heart’s desires when looking into my eyes. Sadly, this has also caused more than a few arguments and even more broken hearts - I can’t be all things to all people. And then, conversely, there are those gloomy people that refuse to see in the world anything other than death, disease, and tragedy - I’ll refrain from calling them Daily Mail readers; after all, such people exist in all countries - I’m not so popular with them. Petitions have been raised against me. Letters written. Parliamentary questions asked. Marches embarked upon. Rallies, even. And countless town and parish councils have met to discuss what is to be done about me. Still, it makes for an interesting life, I suppose. Not a fulfilling one, particularly, but busy enough that I rarely have time to notice. In short, the kind of life to which everyone seems to aspire these days - endlessly rushing around, lest the crushing emptiness of it all catches up with them. Or so it seems to this observer.

Ah, just to relax! On occasions I have been known to swallow a cool autumn breeze, a napping cat, or a calm sea. The tranquillity, the bliss it invokes in me, it's like nothing you can imagine. But like all things, it doesn't last - we all know what follows the calm. All too often I have found myself dashed against the rocks, pounded against the cliff-face, over and over; caught up in some gale, blown far from home; or atop some tree, once again cursing the existence of dogs. My own fault, I suppose. I should take my respite in small doses, but always I want just one more second, one more minute, one more hour… It's always the way. Still, it's worth it. I mean, how much of any person's life is spent feeling truly happy, content, relaxed? A tiny proportion. Yet those fleeting moments keep people going. I'm no different; at least in that respect.

I think I may swallow a bus to the beach soon, once this sandwich has begun to digest. By way of relaxation, I mean. It looks nice out. Too nice to be stuck in an office. That was a mistake on my part, by the way. The man I swallowed this morning looked like he had a day off. Damn "dress-down Fridays". Still, at least his firm orders in good food. But I digress. Perhaps this is somewhat narcissistic of me, but it is at the beach that I feel most at home. Sitting on the shifting sands, staring out at the ever-changing sea, to the point where it meets a sky of infinitely variable shades and patterns; just being there, amongst the only things that change as much as I do. Well, there are other things that change constantly, less obviously, though; all things, in fact: all is change - a fundamental truth of existence. But in the sea, the sky, this is where it is endlessly, and sublimely played out for all to see.

I have left you with a question, I suppose - in fact, it has probably been nagging at you the whole time. You want to know who, or what I am. Perhaps I should answer. I could tell you that I am Reality. Or I could tell you that I am Being. Perhaps, even, Change itself. Or just some bloke called Bob. But I'm not going to. The truth is I could tell you anything I liked, even the truth, but you're human. You will see whatever you want to see. And then you will change. As will I. If I had recently swallowed a Frenchman, at this point I would shrug in an eloquently Gallic fashion. But I haven't. Still, if that's what you want to see…


patroclus said...

This reminds me of that bit in Rabelais's Gargantua. No, not that bit, that bit. Yes, with the goose. Only less rude.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that I thought I'd left a comment somewhere re. visiting Falmouth, but it seems I hadn't, and also I seem to have lost your email address, due to my own disorganisation. So perhaps you could drop me a quick email?

patroclus said...

UPDATE: I've found your email address. Look, it was right there in your profile.

I know how Blogger works, honest.

As you were, MA writing people. Please don't mind me.

Occasional Poster of Comments said...

Ah, yes. I remember the bit with the goose. Hard not to. I'm not sure what the other bit might have been, though. Then again, I did read the book as part of my degree, so chances are I only read about a third of it. [Looks over shoulder] Erm, not that I'd do anything like that now, of course.