We Are, We Are?

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Pictured: a lot of things in progress. As usual, my butterfly mind can't keep still and I have to chuck more and more into the mental pot on a daily basis, but there you go: better buzzing than vacant, in my book. Life all amounts to one thing in the end: no-thing; but the inevitability of the void shouldn't prevent us from sucking in as much of the world as we can possibly manage whilst our consciousness [exists ?] allows. We are - we imagine, anyway - sentient; and therefore we should behave like sentient beings and experience/do stuff, I guess.

Pictured, a bunch of such existential ephemera: the two books I've just started: Seamus Heaney's 1999 translation of Beowulf, and Anthony Bourdain's 'A Cook's Tour' from 2001; my recently acquired Soviet-era Zorki rangefinder camera, which is now loaded with a roll of 200 ASA Fomapan film, and the Palm XT PDA I've recently brought back from the dead with the purchase and installation of a new battery - soldering irons at dawn - all sat atop and amongst much other stuff vying for my attention. This chaos is totally self-inflicted and so I accept and admit full responsibility for it: this is my domain and I like it to be in this messy, albeit lightly organised kind of fashion. It suits my particular shade of OCD.

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