Progressing to the Artificial.

I’ve realised that the only part of me which I fully accept (even though I know there’s room for improvement) is my higher mind: the Super Ego in Freudian terms. I’m becoming increasingly suspicious of the Ego and I dislike the Id quite profoundly. (My new moniker for the US Pres, by the way, is 'Donald the Iddite.')

So now I’m thinking that I should really be one of those beings who used to crop up in Star Trek­ – the ones composed entirely of mental energy and floated around in the ether communicating telepathically. I’m also thinking along the lines of: ‘Since we think of ourselves as being so technologically advanced, why don’t we set about designing plastic bodies which don’t excrete anything, and to which, therefore, participles like ‘running’ and ‘dripping’ never apply. And then there would be the minor matter of finding a way to transfer our higher minds into them, an exercise which might prove a little more difficult. Assistance from gods or aliens (assuming they’re different) might be needed with that one.

And that brings me back to words again, and another one which I find distasteful: ‘stain.’ Stains trouble me, and therefore so does the word. Oddly, however, I find the word ‘blot’ not only acceptable but quite characterful. I suspect it’s because ‘blot’ is associated with ink and the endeavour to transcribe the workings of the higher mind into communicable form.

(And need I add that my Ego occasionally whispers a question to the Super Ego: ‘Have you considered the possibility that you might – only might, I hasten to add – be mentally ill?’ ‘Of course,’ replies SE. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’)