Where do people get off telling me to have a nice day? Do they think I'm incapable of having a nice day without their permission? Actually, the whole thing smacks of extortion; have a nice day since I told you, but if you don't behave, I won't tell you anymore. Just what are these people trying to pull? I might have a very nice day without once hearing that I should, and now with these people all I can do is wonder whether or not my nice day was legitimate or whether I was simply living in a fantasy world.
Besides, what is it that makes a day nice anyway? Certainly not the weather, since I could care less about the weather. Perhaps more prosaic people might believe that it has less to do with exterior circumstances and more to do with inner feelings. That's a load of garbage, since they have no business prying into my inner feelings. Sure, my feelings may be easy to read for some, but that shouldn't make them common knowledge.
It often doesn't even occur to people that my feelings are for me alone. They want me to share them, like that's possible. How can I share my feelings when I'm not even metaphysically sure I have them in the first place? Logically, there are no feelings to share, from their point of view, because if I can't be sure they exist, people other than me really are out on a limb as far as my inner life is concerned.
It might be more interesting for them to ask me to share their feelings, but really, who wants to share other people's quite-possibly-suspect-reality-wise feelings anyway? Most people have feelings that anyone with half a brain could have, and they get along just fine, which is good since if we didn't get along just fine with our feelings we'd be in even more bizarre hot water, psychologically speaking. I know my brain and I get along really well, unless we argue, and then we usually make up quickly afterwards, so I'm not worried. You might want to be though, since I bet your brain is just dying for attention and will start to employ attention-getting behaviors any time now.
Can we really pay attention to our brains anyway? Realistically, our brains are what we pay attention with. It's like trying to haul water in a pail made of water; it's all water, so the pail doesn't really enter into it. I guess it's less like that than one might like to believe, but at the same time, it's more like that then I'm prepared to admit. If water can't hold water, then how can our brains conceive of themselves? It's like talking to our mouths, or seeing our eyes. Reflections, that's all.
It makes one wonder just what constitutes reality and what reflects it. Am I a reflection of myself, or is my reflection reality? If that doesn't blow your mind, then maybe you need to take it out to dinner and buy it the lobster. Sea-going cockroaches are the perfect way to say, "I'm sorry for trying to blow you, dear." I'm sure that most of you in the audience never thought you'd have to say that to yourselves, now did you?
In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, get the British out of Kenya. If that's not a stirring battle-cry behind which we can all march, I don't know what is. I don't know what many things are, but I'm not letting that stop me from having a nice day. Nor should you, unless you happen to be British. Or an historian. Or a reflection.
Besides, what is it that makes a day nice anyway? Certainly not the weather, since I could care less about the weather. Perhaps more prosaic people might believe that it has less to do with exterior circumstances and more to do with inner feelings. That's a load of garbage, since they have no business prying into my inner feelings. Sure, my feelings may be easy to read for some, but that shouldn't make them common knowledge.
It often doesn't even occur to people that my feelings are for me alone. They want me to share them, like that's possible. How can I share my feelings when I'm not even metaphysically sure I have them in the first place? Logically, there are no feelings to share, from their point of view, because if I can't be sure they exist, people other than me really are out on a limb as far as my inner life is concerned.
It might be more interesting for them to ask me to share their feelings, but really, who wants to share other people's quite-possibly-suspect-reality-wise feelings anyway? Most people have feelings that anyone with half a brain could have, and they get along just fine, which is good since if we didn't get along just fine with our feelings we'd be in even more bizarre hot water, psychologically speaking. I know my brain and I get along really well, unless we argue, and then we usually make up quickly afterwards, so I'm not worried. You might want to be though, since I bet your brain is just dying for attention and will start to employ attention-getting behaviors any time now.
Can we really pay attention to our brains anyway? Realistically, our brains are what we pay attention with. It's like trying to haul water in a pail made of water; it's all water, so the pail doesn't really enter into it. I guess it's less like that than one might like to believe, but at the same time, it's more like that then I'm prepared to admit. If water can't hold water, then how can our brains conceive of themselves? It's like talking to our mouths, or seeing our eyes. Reflections, that's all.
It makes one wonder just what constitutes reality and what reflects it. Am I a reflection of myself, or is my reflection reality? If that doesn't blow your mind, then maybe you need to take it out to dinner and buy it the lobster. Sea-going cockroaches are the perfect way to say, "I'm sorry for trying to blow you, dear." I'm sure that most of you in the audience never thought you'd have to say that to yourselves, now did you?
In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, get the British out of Kenya. If that's not a stirring battle-cry behind which we can all march, I don't know what is. I don't know what many things are, but I'm not letting that stop me from having a nice day. Nor should you, unless you happen to be British. Or an historian. Or a reflection.
posted by Pope Easier Rhino I at 03:12
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