The Old Amoeba

Chugger in London street

I was in the environment but at least I knew I was in the environment. That much I knew. That was something. I had the edge still, you see. I wasn’t completely stupid.  I wasn’t a sitting duck – dead in the water but not knowing it. That’s the one thing I didn’t want to be.

 

I knew I was in the environment alright and I was as wary as hell. I was canny. I wasn’t anyone’s fool – I wasn’t taking anything at face value. You know that dumb look that people have when they’re taking everything at face value? Well, I was wary of that look. I was wary of wearing that look. When you have that look on your face then you’re a gonna. The game’s over, then. You’re finished and you don’t even know it. That’s how dumb you are…

 

There was nothing happening that I wasn’t looking sideways at. As if to say “Oh yeah?”  A guy stopped me on the street. One of these charity fundraisers. He wanted to talk to me but I wasn’t having it. I kept on walking. I clocked him straightaway – he was the environment. Everything was the environment. Everyone is the environment. Shifting, changing, swirling around, forever coming up with new configurations, manifesting in new ways. Trying it on, chameleon-wise. Shifting and changing but always still the environment, under it all. Under the veneer. Under the gloss. Under the smiling faces. Still always that same old predatorial environment.

 

I have nothing to say to the environment. It isn’t really interested in talking to me – it just wants to confuse me, befuddle me, addle my wits and then swallow me whole. Like the amoeba it is. That old, old amoeba. Always waiting for its chance.

 

The environment isn’t going to catch me that easily, I say to myself. No sir it isn’t. What am I, a fool? Do I look like an idiot, a patsy? Maybe I do, but I’m not. I’m staying wary, looking at everything I come across sideways. Not letting myself get dozy. Not letting myself get lulled into a state of false security.

 

That old state of false security. That’s the killer isn’t it? That’ll get you every time. That’s the number one strategy of the predatorial environment – lull you into a state of false security and then engulf you. Engulf the fuck out of you. Amoeba-wise. It engulfs everything in the end. It’s pretty good at the old engulfing, I have to admit. It’s handy enough at it.

 

“It’s certainly got the knack for engulfing stuff. I’ll give it that”, I say to myself with a bit of a wry smile on my face, quickening my pace as I make my way down Shop Street. Credit where credit’s due, as they say. But that old amoeba’s got another think coming if it thinks it’s going to jump me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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