My Captive Audience.

I was walking along Meadow Lane today when I spotted a herd of about twenty young bulls in in a field. I stopped to watch them for a few minutes, and when I did they all came dashing up the field and crowded around the gate to give me their full attention. They didn't want me to touch them, but they did jostle for position to get as close to me as possible. They seemed to want me to talk to them, and so that's what I did.

So why do they do that, because today wasn't the first time that's happened? Well, I've heard that pre-verbal creatures -- human babies and animals -- can sense the energies we give off, and on that basis decide whether to voluntarily associate with us. And in particular, non-predatory animals are more likely to gravitate towards humans in whom they sense non-predatory energies, which I presume would include me. That's rather heartening, isn't it? And maybe that's why the squirrels are coming closer.

But there's a sad side. Animals are my only friends these days, but that's not the sad bit. What's sad is that I don't want to get too close to a herd of young bulls because I know what's going to happen to them a couple of years down the line.

Idiot!

I was just reading through some old posts which visitors have accessed when I came across one entitled The Story of the Browser Playing Dead. A sense of dread came falling -- dark, damp, and desperate -- from the ceiling. It wasn't the browser I was talking about; it was the router. Browsers are software. They don't have hidden on/off switches, but routers do.

Now, Blogger isn't quite as sophisticated as Word; it doesn't have a search and replace facility which allows you to change every example of a misused word very easily and quickly. And so I had to set about editing the post manually, replacing every 'browser' with 'router.' There were twelve of them including the post title. I chose to blame the heatwave we were having at the time of posting.

Killing the Original American Dream.

The news from the USA is getting sillier and sillier. Trump's banning of CNN and like-minded channels from the White House is the latest example. He says it's because CNN and their ilk purvey fake news and spread lies. And Fox and Trump don't?

We all know by now that journalism in the US is more about taking sides and purveying propaganda than it is about impartially reporting facts, and that's not so bad as long as people understand the fact and both sides are represented. But now Trump wants the peddling of disinformation and misinformation to be restricted to the right of the political spectrum, while keeping the left quiet and setting himself up as King of the USA and Bretwalda of the western world.

Isn't that what the War of Independence was about? And isn't that central to why Americans are Americans?

A Recommendation.

I just finished reading Virginia Woolf’s short story A Society, and would recommend it to all women of an enquiring bent and all men of a disinterested one.

It tells of a group of idle-but-enterprising middle class women who meet in a tea shop and spend a few years before WW1 dedicating themselves to the nature of the gender divide. It’s full of irony, highly amusing in parts, and very clever in the whole. It makes you think of how society has changed in little over a century, and the narrative pays little heed to the dreaded stream of consciousness style for which Virginia is celebrated (and rightly so if you have the mental energy and staying power.)

As a male raised¹ to embrace the masculine mindset but who generally gets on better with women, I found it most enjoyable.

¹ Word insists that this word should be ‘rose.’ Why would I call myself a male rose?

The Purpose of Ads.

The adverts that frequently interrupt YouTube videos cause me a lot of annoyance. That's because the majority of them are little or no better than sub-juvenile in form and content. I wonder why this should be and would propose two possible answers:

The creators of adverts know, or think they know, that the majority of people are themselves sub-juvenile, and it makes sense to spend the vast sums of money available to the advertising industry on that section of the population most likely to be receptive to to them.

 

There is a plot afoot to use the ubiquity of advertising to create or advance a negative movement in the mental acuity of the population as a whole. This could be for several reasons, all of which are easy to guess.

I favour the latter, even though it's hard to imagine how it could be achieved. I'm well aware, you see, of a thought process becoming ever more prevalent from a variety of sources. It runs roughly: 'Why are the people who run our culture becoming so stupid? How and why have we created  this idiocracy?' 

 

Some people would say that it isn't true, that it's just me being cynical, but I was having thoughts along those lines long before I began to read of others saying the same thing. Or maybe I'm just sulking because no dogs came to say 'hello' to me today.

Endless Thinking.

It began when I got up this morning, and for some unknown reason a line from a Bob Dylan song ran through my head: '... while life goes on all around you.' It's an innocuous little phrase, isn't it? A simple, throwaway line, and yet it began the process of raising questions about life and the nature of reality that went on for about an hour. Every question led to another question and a discussion between one part of my brain and another. Eventually it came to the last question, one to which nobody knows the answer. At that point the slot machine ran out of money, the world went dark, and I moved on to something completely different. (This is quite normal for me. When people accuse me of overthinking I conclude that most of my fellow humans prefer paddling in the littoral surf because they've heard some mention of giant squid.)

 

*  *  *

So, the next pause for thought concerned the value of consensus. (I'd just passed the village notice board, you see, which showed mug shots of all the members of the parish council. I used to be a committee type myself, but not any more.) I'm aware of the fact that consensus is often useful, but I wanted a good, dramatic example of a situation which led to something pretty dreadful. I thought of the story of Moll Dyer, a story which I assume is well known to most Americans, but I'll offer the bare bones for those who've never heard it.

Moll Dyer was an elderly, unmarried woman living in one of the North America colonies towards the end of the 17th century (in Pennsylvania, I think.) One winter was particularly harsh and compounded by an outbreak of some serious health epidemic, so the townspeople got together and decided that Moll must be a witch causing the calamities and should be done away with. They went to her house, duly buoyed by the opinion gained through consensus, to do the deed. Moll escaped through the back door while the mob were setting her house alight, but she didn't escape death. She froze. And perhaps I might add to this the sight of strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. My only conclusion to this was that consensus must be accompanied by fine judgement and not be allowed to run amok.

 

*  *  *

 

And then there was a third subject occasioning a great deal of deep thought, but I can't remember what it was. (This is quite normal for me, too, these days.) I might mention that squirrels have started coming closer to me than they've ever done before. One ran past me on the lane this morning, carrying something -- presumable edible -- in its mouth. And yesterday one came dashing towards me, also carrying something edible. I thought for one blessed moment that it was bringing an offering to swell my food stocks, but no. It changed its mind at the last minute and turned right instead.

The Real Reason for Christmas Presents.

I was thinking about Christmas today for some unholy reason (I prefer to call it Yuletide now, by the way) when I was struck by an unholy notion.

It seemed to me that in the modern western world the main reason for celebrating what people like to call Christmas is to condition children to the notion that consumption is the truest way to happiness. And further, to establish in the unconscious minds of said children the persistent and pernicious hum of discontent which is the bedrock of consumption mania.

At least that's one way of looking at it.

Interestingly, I'm given to understand that a lot of extremely rich people who have every material thing there is to have also suffer discontent, and even depression, because they experience feelings of emptiness when there is nothing left to want. Humans are a bit of a failure really, aren't they?

(And now I have something to look forward to. When someone next asks me 'what are you doing for Christmas?' I intend to reply: 'Christmas? What's that? How do you spell it?)

The Woman.

I have to post this. I've been meaning to for a long time and haven't got around to it. I'm listening to it as I type. It's just that this woman is my idea of the ultimate in... erm... strong femininity. That'll do. And the way she walks off the stage at the end is pure magic. All down to my convoluted taste in women I suppose.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpiFmZLICgM&list=RD1pK02USyU8M&index=12

What I'm hoping is that some kind Norwegian (at least, I think she's Norwegian) will tell me how her name is pronounced.

A New Worry.

I had a text message this morning advising me that last week's blood test was satisfactory and no further action is required. But this morning I had a missed call from a Derby number, and the only telephonic communication I've ever had with anybody in Derby has been with the hospital.

 

So could this be connected with the other half of last week's proceedings - the urine test 'to check on the condition of your kidneys' (which should have been kidney, singular)? Now I wait with trepidation for a letter. I really don't want any more dealings with the hospital after the experiences I've had over the last eight years.

And a new concern has developed in my mind over the matter of mortality. Death is a pretty scary prospect, isn't it? It's the ultimate 'drop everything you've ever known or possessed and walk into the darkness, not knowing whether you're going to fall off a cliff into complete oblivion or have to get used to existing in a totally different environment with totally different rules' experience. 

But now there's something else bothering me. When a body dies it begins to decompose, and in very little time it begins to smell bad and gets worse as the days progress. What a horrible thought. I hate bad smells.

A Sudden Shift.

I just relinquished my undertaking -- reported a couple of days ago -- and picked up my book of Virginia Woolf 'short stories' again. (I had some time to fill while attempting to re-boot my ailing computer, and it was too early to make my night time cup of coffee.) 

 

Well, what a revelation. Everything I said about dear V's style went completely out of the window. I thought I'd just try to struggle through the first paragraph, but instead read two pages and didn't want to put it down when my computer needed assistance.

It's a pretty straightforward narrative, you see, about a group of bored young women deciding that they must get out and discover the world run by men before they so much as contemplate bearing a child. They've become suspicious, you see, of the notion that the women populate the world while the men civilise it. And it's full of Virginia's keen observation, lively intelligence, capacious imagination, and subtle wit.

I am now persuaded to open a new label down below, a Virginia Woolf label. And that means I have to scroll through the last week or two's posts to find suitable players to enter the new team. It won't be a trial, and it's nearly time for my late coffee anyway.