A Fishy Question.

Tonight's miniature offering from dear Virginia is called The Watering Place and treats the reader to her observations of seaside towns -- their character and the nature of those who visit them. She remarks on the fact that seaside towns always smell of fish, and that took me back to my boyhood when our annual holidays always included trips to seaside towns which did, indeed, smell of fish. And they were always fresh fish brought ashore from the trawlers.

I asked myself whether I liked or disliked the pervasive smell of fresh fish as a boy, and came to the conclusion that neither was the case. The smell was simply a characteristic of the environment and was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

And so I further asked myself how I would feel about it now, since the last time I visited a fishy-smelling seaside town I wasn't an ethical vegetarian. As a boy I paid scant attention to the fact that these innocent creatures had been wrenched from their natural environment and dragged into one hostile to their very existence, and had probably been unceremoniously gutted before their inevitable termination spared them the suffering along the way. Would I now, with my latter day sensibilities, feel uneasy about the smell of fresh fish?

The surprising answer was: probably not. I suspect the odour of fresh fish would probably awaken fond childhood memories, and that such memories would probably mask my current concerns. I felt guilty about that, but decided I needn't because it is all a mater of timing and growing, and my new concern would make no difference anyway.

Autumnal.

Autumn days vary so; today was the cool, still, misty sort. Air touching skin with finger-tingling dampness. Sounds entirely absent. Trees in erratic states of dress: some bare, some partially so, some covered but looking ragged nonetheless. Harlequin-inspired leaves of brown and gold and ancient green; falling, twisting, drifting, aping the style of summer butterflies but with one difference: the leaves were travelling in one direction only. Much like us. 

Today I learned what entropy means.

Words and Wants.

I keep on hearing the phrase 'deep and meaningful.' They fall naturally together, don't they, so much so that they're almost synonymous. In fact, they're not, so every time I hear it I catch myself and ask: 'What does 'meaningful' actually mean?' And that sounds counterproductive, and so I change it to: Define the world 'meaningful' without reusing the word you're trying to define. You can't, for example, say that the definition of 'meaningful' is 'that which has the quality of meaning' because it's simply repeating the very word you're trying to understand. It won't do. First you have to define the noun 'meaning', and to do that you have to define the verb 'to mean.' It isn't as easy as it sounds. I've been struggling with it for years and don't seem to be any nearer a solution.

The adjective 'real' is another one. There are even members of the mainstream scientific community who are now questioning whether our perception of the physical environment is real, and whether the environment itself is real and not some arbitrary construction of an unfathomable universe or other power. But what does 'real' actually mean?

I'm beginning to think that if the human race were fully evolved, we wouldn't use language at all. We would rely totally on abstract faculties like intuition, telepathy, and strong senses, although I suspect some elements of science fiction have already done that one.

And now I'm bored thinking about it all.

 

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Do you know what I would really like? Someone physically close with whom I could sit and talk, and who understood me. I expect we'd have deep and meaningful conversations, but I think the hope for that is gone for this lifetime.

 

*  *  *

The other thing I would really like is a slice of toast and jam because I had only a bowl of home made soup and an olive roll for dinner and I'm feeling peckish. That one I can manage. (And now I'm curious to know whether Americans use the word 'peckish'). Look out you single slice of bread left in the bread wrapper.

When Thoughts Lie Dormant.

I feel very flat for some reason this evening, sunken into a state somewhere between ennui and moderate melancholy. I've been sitting here in front of my computer trying to think of something interesting to think about, and I can't. The only thing of note that strikes me is a certain irony: when you can't think of anything interesting to think about, there's no point in trying to write anything apart from a simple statement that you can't think of anything to think about. So now you know. Life really does seem to be ridiculously pointless sometimes.

Loneliness and Connection.

I sometimes feel lonely, you know, and it always surprises me when I do. It surprises me because I've always been a loner to some extent, and the older I get the more entrenched it becomes. Even in my young days when I took part in group activities -- the wolf cubs, the Boys Brigade, a class of 30 or so at school, sports teams, an office full of people -- I always wanted to do my own thing in my own way. When I played sport I was never a team player. I played it because I enjoyed playing it; and I played it to the best of my ability purely for my own sake. I found those pep talks given by the captain at half time pointless and irritating because pep talks didn't apply to me. And it's a solid fact that I wouldn't want to live any other way than alone. Having my private space invaded by other people is seriously deleterious to my mood. It's happening at the moment with the builders, and an email I received this morning indicates that I will have to suffer it again soon in a different way. Hideous. So why should I feel lonely sometimes?

Well, I gather that some clever psychologist has spent a lot of hours studying the phenomenon of loneliness and has concluded that it has little to do with how many people we have around us, but is more about how connected we feel to other people generally. That's the point at which it becomes complicated because the term 'connected' can be interpreted more than one way. And yet it might give a clue to my dilemma. 

Sometimes when I'm walking around the lanes or through a wood I feel a subtle sense of being in some way out of step. I try to analyse it and the first word that comes to mind is 'disconnected.' I admit to feeling a slight sense of connection to the trees and animals, but no real connection with those I pass on the lane or those who pass me in cars (with maybe one exception, but that's an unwonted complication to this little ramble.) Fortunately, I'm well practiced in appearing mostly normal in situations where such an appearance is required, so I don't get driven away and incarcerated in some institution for those with mental conditions beginning with 'dissociative...' At least not yet.

 

But maybe it's part of the reason why I've been obsessively interested in mortality for so long. I'm seeking to know whether, when I take the last train out, I can have confidence in the fact that its destination will be a place with which I can feel some sense of connection.

A Literary Hobby.

Some people collect stamps. Some other people used to collect small, thematic cards given free in cigarette packets in the days when cigarette packets were respectable. Not unsurprisingly, they were known collectively as 'cigarette cards.' I remember them (just.) I used to collect thematic cards -- I recall flags of the world and football players being favourite -- which came with bubble gum packs (I think.) And there are some people even today who collect fine paintings or objets d'art, but I was never one of those. Peasant upbringing, you see.

Now I collect words and phrases I find in books, mostly fiction, and think of them occasionally for no particular reason. I believe the first one I put into the collection was one I read as a youngster: Damned with faint praise. And then there was Zoe's An object of faded regard. I remember both of them quite often, and there are others. Today's precious little find comes from Virginia Woolf's short story: The Shooting Party.

...memory is a light that dances in the mind when the reality is buried.

America's Big Stumbling Block.

My YouTube recommendations contain very many examples of why Europe is a much better place to live than the USA. Most of the channels are operated by Americans who have either spent time in Europe or actually upped sticks and moved here permanently. And, as you would imagine, the whole picture is obviously biased to suit the national identity of a European YouTube user.

 

I would agree that Europe does have one big advantage over America in that it can trace its modern cultural roots back 2,000 years or more, whereas the USA is a mere 250 years old. That much is obvious, as is the propensity among many Americans to flaunt American exceptionalism (which is irritating to us Europeans, but we tend to forget that west and south European exceptionalism was the norm for approximately 300 years.) Nevertheless, there is obviously good and bad in both regions.

 

And so let's all agree that my YouTube recommendations are out of balance. Good. But there is one feature of the USA that does give cause for serious concern and places it pejoratively out of step with most of the rest of the world, and that's its principle religion. And I'm not talking about Christianity here. Americans seem possessed of the notion that theirs is the most Christian country on earth, but from everything I've seen and heard -- and not only on YouTube -- the American version of Christianity bears little resemblance to the purported teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. They're a country mile away, and often completely at odds with what Jesus apparently taught.

 

No, what I'm talking about here is America's true religion: the dedicated worship of mammon and the symbiotic relationship between  wealth and power. Power attracts money; money buys power.

I read today that Elon Musk has contributed nearly half a billion dollars to the cause of reversing the anti-Republican voter trend ahead of the midterm elections. No doubt it's intended to buy power for those who favour and reward the rich and privileged to the detriment of the poor. I suspect he's probably too late this time, but that isn't the point. The point is that here in the UK (I can't speak for other European countries) we place a strict and very small limit on the amount of money that can be spent on electioneering, simply because we don't think that the result of elections should be bought by the side which has the most money. That would be seriously detrimental to the whole democratic principle. But in America, being the foremost disciple of the great god Mammon, it's allowed. 

And that's disappointing because I've known enough splendid Americans to realise that the USA has the potential to be the greatest mover for good in the world. But as long as it retains this one major fault it might well remain powerful, but it will never be great.

Being a Failure Again.

You would think, would you not, that in this rapacious, technological age when so much about us is common knowledge through our debit card purchases, our emails, the websites we visit, and so on -- and given the fact that those whose interest lies in bending the consumers among us to their webby little corners where they may treat us with vain deceit to enmesh us in their capacious bag of hungry subscribers -- and further given the fact that they have clever, technological aides called 'algorithms' which catalogue and cleverly sort the evidence -- that they would address their advertising to those who could be guaranteed to need, or at least want, what they have to tempt us with? You would think so, wouldn't you?

It appears not. My computer screen is plagued - or should I say polluted -- with adverts every day of the week, and hardly a one of them accords in any way with what I need or even want.  Take the current ad on my Hotmail home page today, for example, replete as it is with an engaging photograph of a:

 

Robot Coupe R5 V.V Cutter Mixed Single Phase

 

How could any algorithm possibly delude it's little brain into thinking I would need (or even want) such an item when I have no idea what the item even is? And the engaging photograph offers no elucidation to persuade me to think twice. 

I think I must be out of step. I think I must be failing in my duty as a committed 21st century consumer. I think I must be terribly boring. How could I sit carelessly reading a few pages of Virginia Woolf instead of falling quietly into their web? I am duly disgraced.

Being Tired and Strimmerless.

I had a disturbed night last night -- kept waking up and falling back to sleep. It happened several times and then the builder turned up early. I didn't get much sleep after that.

And then I paid £40 in taxi fares to make the short trip to Uttoxeter, mainly to buy a new grass trimmer because my old one's packed up and the season hasn't finished with the need of a grass trimmer yet. I chose the same make and model as the old one because it's worked well, but I was unsuccessful. They've changed the system now, you see. Previous ones I've bought have come with the battery pack included, but not any more. Now it's necessary to buy the device, the battery, and the charger separately because one battery fits all their devices. That makes the purchase considerably more expensive. (It's a clever marketing trick to persuade the consumer to buy ONLY their devices. The other make they sell has been doing it for years, which is why I've never bought the other make.)

I decided to go ahead with the purchase anyway, but was thwarted in my attempt. The store had only one battery in stock and no chargers. They said it was all to do with Trump's silly Iran shenanigans causing the Straits of Hormuz problem. I was easily persuaded of the reason, but I still lack a grass trimmer. And all because of the pre-eminence of capitalism and Americans putting an ego-obsessed half wit into the White House. When will we ever learn.

 

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Today I noticed that the number of page views to this blog since I began it in 2010 has passed 3m, at least that's what Blogger stats say. I don't believe it of course because it seems utterly ludicrous, but then I can't disbelieve it either because I have no basis to prove a fault. And so I still watch the burgeoning stats for the sake of killing time, but take them with a pinch of salt.

The Curse of the Super Rich.

That thought occurred to me again yesterday:

When ya got nuthin', ya got nuthin' to lose ~ Bob Dylan

When you've got everything, you've got nothing to want ~ Jeff Beazley

Wanting seems central to the mind of the human animal, so I asked the question: If you have more money than you can ever hope to spend on the acquisitions available in the material world, is there anything else that extreme wealth can buy? A sense of superiority and the obsequious  fawning of lackeys, perhaps? It's a bit frail and fragile, isn't it? Which brings us back to the Buddhist attitude to ego.

I suppose you could always aspire to make the world a better place, but even that -- notwithstanding the fact that making the world a better place is probably still bowing the knee to ego -- would be forever under threat from the human condition and the forces of nature. So how about the ability to pay skilled assassins to kill people who dislike you? Mmm, nice one...