Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Christmas In July.


      The species I belong to, can quickly fall prey to paranoid delusion. We are all of us prone to grandeur, which is a word that can be defined as ‘a sense of importance.’ This simple illusion makes us mostly frightened of our world, because our world generally does not consider us in the least important. And I’d argue that this is an ultimate cause of the cohesion that can occasionally be seen amongst us.  We band together around meaning, because that’s how we deal with the impasse of fear. And I say this as one who puts words into the ether for no other reason than the sense of grandeur it gives me.

      Tragic really, and especially so when I find myself pandering to fear by using phrases such as “Knife-like mandible” or “Sock Bomb.” Astonishing what such words do for numbers. And today I intend to achieve a statistical anomaly by entering the phrases “Sarin Gas” “VX Gas,” "Mole Bean," “Two hundred Australians,” and “Higgs Imposter.”  It'll be robots, haunting the ether, which will hunt such connections down. Then someone well paid to be frightened might grade me.  "Against,"  "Homeland Security,"  "Successful," "Free At Last," "Christmas In July."  By this time tomorrow, if I'm still here, I may have a real number.  


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