Suddenly I want to go to Turkey. It snows there, in some parts, sometimes, as I've read, but I'm sure it's just as elaborately stifling as... here. Or perhaps not. To sustain such a fantasy one must improve on its basic mechanisms. The same principle as any 'plausible' fiction.
Sometime this week I'll take a whole day off, sleep on it. Maybe I'll come up with something interesting. But it doesn't work like that.
I still remember how personally cheated I felt when I read that what they call an eye transplant is merely a corneal transplant. All our pudding men crumble. A dab of icing, and his smile falters. His body is a feast of ants. We feign surprise, although they have only followed the path through our clumsy walls.
I'm getting addicted to Animal Planet again. Watched a documentary about crocodiles in Mauritania yesterday. Field-toned naturalists who don't hump animals and screech about how beeeyoooiful they are - most refreshing.
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And I spent an evening watching National Geographic dissect an Ebola attack in Africa. What is that they say about idle minds...
I think you should suppress the thought of going to Turkey... what with the birdflue and all...
First Rain: Watching this crap actually gives me a lot of ideas. Not that I really need any more cluttering up my head right now...
The fishes are winsome. Always.
Panu: Just had a juvenile moment, there, with Turkey and birdflu. Can't go anyway, too expensive :/
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