The zombies are calling me.
People who refer to other people as ‘they’.
‘They’re all the same’, and, ‘that’s what they want you to think’.
People who’ve given up on hope and change and hunkered down, rolling a boulder called fear into the cave doorway and frowning about how they’ll get the smoke from the fire to vent in a closed space.
I feel the temptation.
It’d be easy to sign up for the Daily Mail and play Loathe My Neighbour.
But, goddammit, I’ve no experience of easy ever feeling worth it.
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I’ve been thinking a lot about framing, about context and how things can simultaneously be different things to different people, depending on how experiences are framed.
Sometimes Edinburgh feels like The Truman Show. Boat times on Eigg were like that too. Ritual and repetition are framed scenes in touristy places, I guess.
A good view nearly always has an amazing, sometimes understated frame. Layers, texture, colour and cross sections sing to me when I’m trying to understand places.
I think it’s the same process for choosing cake – senses lead, recognition follows.
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