To add insult to injury it unexpectedly started snowing on the way back: the human wouldn't stop complaining about trying to cycle with flakes landing in his eyes, and he hadn't even thought to wear a waterproof jacket so I got cold and wet in a woefully inadequate outside pocket of unlined tweed.
Returning without the main ingredient for mulled wine, which had been the purpose of my excursion in the first place, I had to make do with hot chocolate and gingerbread before retiring to my nice warm sock, recently donated by a generous benefactor.
Thankful as I am for my lot, I like to think that my stripy winter abode shares some sort of common spirit with the red tents of Les Enfants de Don Quichotte (The Children of Don Quixote), an association that set up camps of bright red tents around France last winter to protest against inadequate housing and the precarious conditions in which many unfortunate humans are forced to live.
Descartes would have been proud: the government responded last winter by announcing a "droit opposable au logement"--meaning that the state, theoretically, has an obligation to house its citizens, and can face legal action (how useful!) if it fails to do so.
The effect of this law is best described as theoretical; and when not busy trying to break up strikes, the police have been busy removing more recent protest encampments from in front of the Paris stock exchange. A building which, come to think of it, symbolises how great an effect purely abstract propositions and values can have when people suddenly lose confidence in them.
If only more stockbrokers and less illegal migrants were to feel the need to jump out of windows in fright at the first whiff of bacon, the world might be a fairer place.
5 comments:
How right you are Mme H, that stockbrokers should jump at the first whiff of Bacon, if only they had the where-with-all to contemplete the opening sentence of 'De Interpretatione Naturae Prooemium' then they would realise the vacuous nature of their existence and defenestrate immediately: "Ego cum me ad utilitates humanas natum existimarem," ("since I thought myself born to be of advantage to mankind "). JUMP!
And, in keeping with the Bacon theme and snowflakes, here's an interesting fact: Francis Bacon's death had a considerable element of irony. He had been inspired by the possibility of using snow to preserve meat. Bacon purchased a chicken to investigate this possibility, but, during the endeavour of stuffing it with snow, contracted a fatal case of phneumonia.
Yours porcine-ly
FunmbleD
aka x E
Can't agree more, Mme F.D.! Never one for stepping outside an episteme, I had my bacon last night with potatoes.
A puerile question from my pet human: is there any intended relationship between fumbling darkly and the attempt to stuff chickens with snow?
He'll be looking out for entries with interest.
Dear Conduit H,
As declared in a comment posted elsewhere - see: http://supermagicdiscoveryworld.blogspot.com/
"For the quintessential thesis on nihilism check out my blog at:
http://fumblinginthedark.blogspot.com/"
Should I ever imagine a shape beyond nihilism then this murky thesis may well burst from its chrysalis known as 'fumbling in the dark' to emerge as 'raving in the light'. My blog encapsulates the magnificent inertia of non-thesis writing.
Oi, Koch, go defenestrate!
Hear hear, with hippo prayers to Saint hIgnatius that your wish be granted!
There is much to be said for the blog as a forum for nihilism--my only complaint is of a technical one, that one can't leave comments on the nothingness!
xx H
C'est vrai - so in the spirit of accepting nothingness comments I have published my first blog. x
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