Don’t Free Willy. Just don’t
He’s a mother-forca. An agent of Death himself.
And he wants to make you life-extinct for his lunch. And he’s not alone…
Not cheerful this. No apology.
Triggered by the most random things, an abrupt existential thought train can spring from nowhere sometimes.
This may be triggered by, say, a bored security guard showing you some video of a man walking on a beach being attacked and chomped by an Orca beaching itself to get at him. (Thanks for that).
Now, as it turns out, this footage is faked, and said ravenous “Free Willy” imposter was actually chowing down on an unfortunate sea-lion or some such.
By all means see Youtube – but I’d say probably not, because, fake or not, it might take you somewhere you don’t want to be in your own mind.
Still, as can sometimes happen when surprised by things you’re not remotely expecting, whether real or fake, a train of thought is formed.
It’s the suddenness of state change. A fake man on a real beach smiling and waving one second, then lunch for something else the next.
It’s all too easy to see and ignore, in the news every day. Your internal censor is actually fairly powerful.
Just this week, some French schoolgirl of 15 was attacked by a shark whilst swimming off some beach.
The never-ending trail of news of soldiers being scattered in all directions by an IED whilst on foot patrol.
Innocent people in some dusty land at the market buying fruit n veg having their shopping trip terminated in a rather permanent way by some nutter in an explosive waistcoat.
A distracted driver on the phone not even seeing the lorry that’s about to be the very last thing he does see when he finally looks up in his last milliseconds.
That olive that’s about to choke you to death because you didn’t expect it, and didn’t discover because you weren’t chewing properly, like your mum always told you to.
The brief moment you realise you should have used an RCD whilst using those hedge trimmers, just before you exit the planet with a strange whiff of electrical burning and bacon in your nostrils.
The final cigarette that breaks the back of your beleaguered health, and silently turns you over to the big C for your subsequent exit.
That last round of shots before you vomit in your sleep that night, and go out rockstar-style.
Life’s a pretty strange state of affairs really. You’re not here. Then you’re here. Then you’re not here.
I guess we should all probably stop every now and then to take some of this life stuff in. Because, in a haze of, frankly, nonsense, and the hurly-burly of life with all its minor distractions, the realisation it could be over any moment, in an instant, is just too easy to push back into the absurd thought of “it’ll never happen to me”
Even my own words are unlikely to stop me being a miserable bastard day in and out, but at least I acknowledged it eh?
There’s a metaphorca out there for every single one of us…
spiffingwheeze 