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Flying bacon and wooly socks
Posted: Sunday, May 23, 2010 by LePhilozophe in
As i write this, a black family currently resides in the White House, the UK effectively has two cooks stirring the broth, scientists in the US have developed the first ever synthetic living cell and the Fifa World Cup is to be hosted on African soil for the very first time.
And as yet, i am also reminded of the fact that my bacon rashers did NOT develop wings this morning in a dramatic splatter of runny egg yolk and tabasco sauce to fly off my plate, out the window and off into the distance; nor did i require to yank on a pair of holy (scuze the pun) wooly socks and a knitted jersey as the breaking news broke across all major networks that hell hath indeed frozen over and the resultant chill might send a cold front off into the west, but for the most part it should remain partly cloudy and warm across most parts.
There was a time in our collective human history when just the mere suggestion of the occurences in the above opening line would have in all probability gotten one hanged, drawn and quartered, or even less humanely, laughed off as the offshoot ramblings of a rapidly declining mind.
Kind of eyebrowraise-worthy when you think that in our present age, hell must surely freeze over just about every other day (including Sundays and public holidays) what with all the neverinamillionyears-ness that goes on today. So much so that the earth citizen has become numb and detached to anything already seen and done, with customary t-shirt duly acquired. Extremism's quickly become a cliche that one hardly looks up from one's bowl of cornflakes to acknowledge. It's become "so last week, daaahling"! That and all the other "isms" with it.
As quick as we are to manufacture (and brand) the proverbial storm in a tea cup, we just as easily slot back into our human tendency to find order in randomness and chaos and just get on with it. With life that is. Yes earth citizens, we live in revolutionary times. And contrary to the poem, the revolutions are being televised, mind you. If you can find somebody who cares long enough however, then by all means you deserve a branded t-shirt of your very own. Wish we could pay you more fanfare and ovation, but that's a sign of our times, my friend. A thousand apologies if we've rained on your parade. Pass the cornflakes, will you?
Welcome to the S.O.O.T. It's nice to have you here.
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