If I had to verbalise my inner philosophy, well, first off, it would take a few pages. And I imagine it would be a rambling effort. Dozens of odd thoughts scattered and leapfrogged across the page, adding up to...what? An ethos?
A grandiose word for a way to get through the day.
But something that struck me as I walked down the car park ramp to my flat - I read a line in a new book I'm reading, 'Dark Matter' by Cameron Cruise, that described a triathlete finding a young woman's body on his morning training run.
I realised that if I had been the one discovering the body, I think it would force me to change my life. I would not simply report the finding to cops and then go back to my training. I would, to use the common expression, 'get involved'.Life, Be In It.
So where this turns into a philosophy, well, I guess it's in letting life direct me, not the other way around. Possibly it's just a normal reaction to my last twenty years, but I seem to have come to the conclusion that no matter how much you try to control your life, what happens happens.
But I meant more than that. I actively keep my eyes open for events in my life that are symptoms, expressions perhaps, of the universe's actions.
So for me, finding a body would be the start. I would learn about forensics. Why that woman was chosen rather than another. Become a detective. Solve the mystery. And maybe that's all it is, love of a mystery. Desire to solve the inexplicable. But I have turned it into the aforementioned ethos. When something happens in my life, accept it and interpret it for suggestions of future directions. Not that I think the universe works in obvious messages.
But I do believe in following the stream's current, rather than fighting it. I think this is the essence of Tao philosophy? The Uncarved Block (of wood). Let life shape you. Hippy shit, yes, but still useful.
Well enough philosophy. As if to remind me that life is real, I drank a home made iced coffee Ms Tart made me this morning, all the way down watching this little chink of coffee sitting on the ice cream. As I finished the last dregs, I tried to get the cream and leave behind the coffee chunk, not wanting that bitter grimace to adorn my features.
But I failed. It slipped into my mouth and I bit it softly. It felt the wrong consistency for coffee so I fingered it out.
A drowned fly. It had accompanied me for the whole cup. Flavouring every mouthful.
I followed the pantomime ritual of spitting out my mouthful into the sink and then rinsing with water. But why? I eat meat often, how worse is a fly? It's a mental thing, and I need to be stronger to overcome these things.
Yesterday morning I had to dispose of three cockroaches in my flat, one still alive but nerve-fucked by that nasty Raid stuff. I use it, and hate it, at the same time. It does horrible nerve damage to any invertebrate it touches. The cockroach was strong but could only crawl in circles.Was he tripping as well? The other two were dead and still, and I used a paper towel to lift and bin them.
An unofficial soundtrack to Monkey Dust, the BBC animated series from a few years ago. Lots of Air, Benny Benassi and Black Box Recorder
Stoned, to markets, RSPCA to score, fed ponies by hand, petrol and danish. Plus library visit, new books, paid bills
Started watching a new series True Blood, recommended by Ms Tart
Cameron Cruise' Dark Matter, and Clive Barker's Coldheart Canyon
Bought basil and parsley, so risotto I guess.
Have a little cash but trying to save it for Monday night, D's birfdee at Bundamba bowls...