People Tend To Think Of Their Lives

...catching A Glimpse Of His Rather Hippyish Form In A Mirror, He Wonders At This Atavism Of Apparel, Is It An Inversion Of Foetal Ontogeny, In Which The Phenotype Passes Through Previous Fashion Stages? Soon There Will Be Gaiters And Gloves...i Will Probably Die, He Thinks, Clad In Animal Skins.

Death, The Real Simile For Disease - For When We Are Ill, Do We Not Always Feel Like We Are Dying, Even If It's Only A Little? - Remains, Despite Our Secularism, The Most Metaphoricised Phenomenon Of All.

Life, It Is True, Can Be Grasped In All Its Confused Futility Merely By Opening One's Eyes And Sitting Passively, A Spectator On The Stands Of History - But To Understand The Social Processes And Conflicts, The Interplay Between Individual And Group, Even The Physicality Of Human Experience, We Have Need Of Small-scale Models.

Ideologists Of All Kinds Find A Strange Sort Of Comfort In The Madness Of The Crowd; It Confirms Them In Their Suspicion That History, Far From Being Made By The Great Mass Of Individuals - As Marx Averred - Is Rather Unmade By A Single Massive Individual, A Collective Other, Who Stands In Stark Contrast To You And He.

I'm Going To End Up Like One Of Those Old Weirdos Who Lives In A Network Of Tunnels Burrowed Through Trash - Yet I Do Not Fear This.