Wrish

With infinity monkeys I’d start a restaurant chain called Monkeymeal with an adorable monkey logo where you are served by trained monkeys. All the dishes would be monkey.

With infinite monkeys I would make a space elevator, a giant pyramid of monkeys that pass things up or down. They would probably pass monkeys.

With infinite monkeys I would sell cages of monkeys as space heaters, if you need more heat, just increase the number of monkeys.

With infinite monkeys I would sell trained monkey curtains, you get a bunch of monkeys that hang in front of your windows, you say keys words to make them let more light in.

With infinity monkeys I would find a way to make monkey bread and serve the starving millions with my protein rich supplement.

Fuck Shakespeare.

If she comes to you with a problem, she wants to talk, to be heard, to reflect.

If he comes to you with a problem he wants it solved.

If she asks you a question, she wants to speculate, to suggest, to empathise.

If he comes to you with a question he wants it answered.

Meeting the needs of others requires you to resist this pattern,  consider before you solve, and think before you speak.

This weekend, a vapid experience, spent supine and jacked-in. It dissolved into time like Berocca into warm water, not because I was having fun, but because, so idle, so empty was it that I have no memory to consider.

It brings to mind the contradiction of those people that spend their time doing nothing complain fiercely of being busy, yet those that spend it actively seem to fill their lives with such wonderful diversity.

It seems to me that the more you have to fill your life, the more life you get to be filled.

End note :- This is totally worth your time.

I have just finished reading The Diary of Anne Frank, for those unfamiliar souls, Anne Frank was a young and charming girl forced into hiding with her family during a period of Nazi occupation of the Netherlands from 1942 to 1944.

The book is a great deal more than the chronicles of a young girls life. Her grasp of language, emotion, motivation and the things that reside within us all is undoubtedly cause for inspiration.

In the closing entries, Anne comes to truly reflect on the nature of her being, and describes a soul that I cannot help but find parallel with. Questions thrash inside me, if I can have such things in common with a 15 year old Jewish girl from 1944, might I find them in others too? How many of us fight the unruly beast that is self. Do we all hold an ideal within us, one that seems only to visit during the loneliest times. Is young Anne the one person who truly revealed herself, if only to the scrawled pages of a diary.

To those who have trusted enough to show the truth within, read this book, if only to know that truth is within all of us.

Those spoons that accumulate in your parents spoon draw, nobody knows where they came form or why they are there or even their purpose, people don’t use them because they are often slightly discoloured and somewhat mottled in appearance. The imagination would have them used to clean the toenails of a giant with acidic toe-jam.

Then you visit your weird great aunt that has long since lost the ability to communicate on levels beyond loud shrieking and drawing letters in the air with her eyes. Among her collection of crochet doilies and tapestry style tea-towels she possesses an almost scary assortment of spoons, presented very nicely in a wooden wall hanging box.

I imagine that these spoons are the distant relatives of modern day Tazo’s and Pokemon cards, from a forgotten era when the word “collectable” still possessed a thin veil of credibility, providing for objects of – at least – remote functional use, and manufactured at a cost slightly higher than bovine saliva.

I have no point, I just wanted to point them out – some of them are cute eh.