The Disaster Of Oxygen

The mind loves to feast on garbage, does it not? It loves feasting on garbage so much that it can’t keep its head out of the garbage pail. It can’t keep its head out of the trough. What else is this world of ours but a trough full of nauseating filth, full of evil-smelling corruption and slime? Why else would we love looking at our mobile phones and tablets all the time if it wasn’t for our love of garbage? We are hungry for it and the more we eat the hungrier we get – isn’t that always the way? God knows that this always the way with garbage; we know it too – we know it only too well. Of course we know it; we aren’t fools, after all. We can see the obvious when it stares us right in the face. There are some who say we are fools of course; there are some who say that we are jelly-heads and that we are as dumb as the day is long. That’s not true of course – we’re smart enough. We know very well what’s going on – we’re just not letting on that we do. It’s a game we play; it’s a dirty old game that we’ve slipped into. We’ve got into the habit of it. That old mind, that old mind. It loves to feast on toxic effluence so much. If you give it its head it’ll feast all day long! It’ll hardly come up for air. Perhaps it doesn’t need to come up for air – did you ever think of that? Perhaps the old thinking mind is anaerobic, like those anaerobic bacteria you can sometimes find in little colonies right down at the bottom of your wellies. They have a life all of their own, these anaerobic microbes – oxygen is of course a deadly poison to them. The worst disaster that could ever happen to these anaerobes is the disaster of oxygen – everything goes tits-up then. Everything goes pear-shaped. So you see, perhaps the thinking mind, that clunky old thing, is a type of anaerobic organism? That would explain a lot really; it would explain its strange behaviour very well. If it comes up for air it withers and dies so it keeps its nose firmly fixed to the toxic slime upon which it feeds. It sucks onto this slime for all it’s worth; it sucks onto the slime like a sucker-fish, like a remora. If you try to pull it away from what it’s feeding on it’ll turn and give you a nasty bite, like a bad-tempered lamprey. It will take a sizeable chunk out of your face. If you try to pull the mind away from its beloved filth it’ll strip the living flesh from your bone like an enraged moray eel. Best not to upset it in this case, wouldn’t you say? Best not to upset the lamprey of the thinking mind…







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