Thoughts expected during the coming year.

Loss of place, loss of community - memories of a time when islands were not, or seemed not, places of isolation.
These are the things that will be occupying my thoughts during the coming year.  When I can shoehorn them in among worrying about bills, getting the car fixed, damp-dusting, the 'ageing process', Death, World War Three, eating too many biscuits, did I use up the emergency UHT milk last Tuesday, bothering the doctor with my rheumy eye, will I die 'early and suddenly' (preferred option) or wither away, alone and ga-ga, in a work-house-style care home et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, that is.  Death and Money, basically.  And as one gets older, Death, naturally, tends to predominate.
If you aren't readying yourself for Death, ur not doin it rite. Life, that is.  I read that somewhere.  Or at least, something along those lines.
I'm forever readying myself for Death.  I have been ever since I was in my 30s when I expected, due to illness, to be dead at 42.  However that did not occur.  42 came and went, and a fairly large number of years have followed.  I count myself lucky.  Now I think of myself as being in a waiting room, waiting my turn, sweaty palms and dicky tummy, reading magazines I never usually read and eating sweets to try to take my mind off the horror of it all.  Lots of people have gone on before, let's face it.  It can't be that bad - can it? We all must open the door alone and find out what lies behind it, alone.  Perhaps it's not that bad after all.  We just don't know what lies beyond, because nobody's come back to tell us.  Fear of the unknown and all that.
Meanwhile, it's probably a good idea to set aside 'readying yourself' from time to time, and enjoy oneself as much as possible.  Otherwise one might become depressed and likely to move on from magazines and sweets to truly life-threatening things such as alcohol, drugs, fatty foods, dangerous 'sports' and so forth, in order to blot out the existential anxiety, thereby increasing it by increasing the chances of an earlier demise possibly through complications arising from morbid obesity.
Can I manage that?  Can I manage to set aside readying myself?  I'm not sure.   I am sure, and I know from experience, that reading and writing are two non-life-threatening activities which can blot it out, if the subject matter is sufficiently interesting and engaging.  Obviously that won't include (at least not when anyone's looking) articles about gluten-free baking,  Katie Perry's beach-ready-body and Cruz Beckham's singing career.  That is an excellent motivation.
On the other hand, why should one bother to avoid life-threatening things, when one is going to die anyway?  It's only putting off the inevitable and you can smoke and drink merrily knowing you will be saving the state a few quid by dying 'early and suddenly' of a heart attack or rapidly-advancing cancer.  Nobody lives forever.  The reason I don't presently tend to over-indulge TOO much is because I enjoy physical activity in a moderate kind of way, walking and nature and so forth, and I want to be able to do so for as long as possible.
On the other hand - or foot, since we've used up both hands - you never can tell.  One might not have to bother setting aside 'readying oneself'.   One might come to terms with one's mortality - biting the bullet, so to speak - as one potters along, and have a terrific time doing it.
Compliments of the season, and all that.

Are We Turning into Machines?

Surely this isn't likely.  At least, not terribly.  I mean,  I accept that as organic beings - if you take a teleological perspective - we are wending our way along a Hegelian-style continuum of evolution - that is, probably.  Perhaps.  Then again,  perhaps not.  And whereabouts we are on that continuum, should such a thing exist, or be occurring, is a matter of pure conjecture.
Where does that leave us?  Sort of where we always were I suppose.
I don't think we're that far from the 'fish crawling out of swamp' stage really.  Well, so it seems if you look at social media.
We certainly use a lot of technology - our lives revolve around it now - and technology is increasingly involved in health care and in food production, so that we even ingest technology without knowing it.  The virtual web surrounds us and numbs us like the poisonous silvery threads of an enormous, crushing, stifling spider's web.  The harder you struggle, the more you kick, the harder it is to escape.  (Is that true?  I'm not sure.  Perhaps it just feels like that.)
One of the things that worries me most is that already there are no letters, no diaries with which secrets are shared, no accounts of daily life written in the watches of the night and hidden under pillows. Will there ever be political diaries again?  A Chris Mullin, a Tony Benn?  What about Byron and his Letters?  Nowadays he'd have an Instagram account and probably a leaked sex tape.  Everything's ephemeral - close your account and it's gone,  all gone, all bar that embarrassing photo you were tagged in on Facebook that just will never go away.
Perhaps as we age we will have failing parts of us replaced so that eventually we are completely mechanical, and just require to be 'maintained' and 'serviced'.  Hips, knees, kidneys, livers, hearts, lungs. Teeth.  Faces.  They do all this already, in some form or other.  So, semi-mechanical humanoids, yes, that I can envisage.   What about brains?  Will they be next?  And what about souls?  I think we all have those, and I'm quite sure you cannot manufacture a soul.  A machine may be able to 'think', but it cannot have a soul.
No, I don't think we''re 'turning into' into machines.  I'm not convinced that we're turning into anything, we're not evolving at all.  If we're doing anything, anything at all, we're spiralling downwards, the trajectory is downwards, earthwards, drilling into the dirt and knocking ourselves senseless on rocks.  We don't understand time never mind the infinite, and our place within it.  Our view of existence is limited,  we see only a fraction, like navigating through life via that steamed-up triangular window in the Apollo 13 space capsule.
What gives me hope is the organic world.
Nature doesn't like nasty machines.

Next post - Will there be an Apocalypse, and if so, after, will we still be able to buy cheese?

Isn't life strange................

"....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The noise of Geoffrey's blood-curdling screams echoed round my skull like a...

Oh I can't be bothered.

If truth be told, we're still sitting by the fire as per usual, drinking tea and musing over life's strange vagaries while the rain drums off the windowpane.

Life is very odd, isn't it? but that's what makes it interesting. Most of its oddity - I find - comes from two sources. One, that we're mortal, and all this - whatever it is - comes to an end - and we've no clue as to how, or when. That can make life feel quite pointless at times - what's it all for? I haven't the foggiest. I tend to think that as we're interconnected, organic creatures - everything is organic, when you think about it - we must be an essential part of the general warp and weft of the universe. And so it's a mistake to feel that anyone's life is pointless and ineffectual.
The second interesting oddity is human relationships. Can. Of. Worms. Can. Of. Worms. An endless source of oddness and fascination. Crashing around like bulls in china shops. Blooming heck. Not even going to GO there.

"Biscuit?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Stopped raining yet?"

"Dunno."

Yuletide Greetings to all

A Merry Yuletide to all our readers - relax, crack open another barrel of Duke of Malmsey's finest, put your feet up by a blazing driftwood fire, and contemplate the mysteries of life while munching on a plate of hi-fat salty snax and counting your blessings.
If you've got any, of course. Is life a blessing, or a curse? as the sun crawls slowly along the horizon, and the snow and ice increase their grip, Geoffrey and I delve into the murky depths of our brains, and attempt to figure this one out...
Oh - by the way - the blazing Yule log thundered past, merely scraping the snow off the weather side of the Outcrop, and plunged harmlessly off the cliffs.
"Is it a sign, Geoffrey? an omen for the coming year? a Christmas miracle, perhaps?" I mused, as the sparks rose high in the night sky.
"Oh dear Tuppy. You're going soft. Time for the hi-strenf medication, I think! fetch the medical chest, quick!"
See you next year...

what exactly happens, after death?

Last evening, as we sat by our roaring driftwood fire, and chatted aimlessly over a glass of madeira and a pipe or two, Geoffrey and I realised that we had tired of our fave topic, "Is Death Avoidable?", and have taken the logical step of turning to the next rung up so to speak, viz., "Is There Life After Death?", or, "What Exactly Happens, After Death?".
"Does this mean that we've accepted Death as inevitable?" I mused.
"No Tuppy, of course we haven't," replied Geoffrey, refilling his pipe.
"All the same that doesn't mean that we're going to stop eating pies, surely?" I asked, worriedly.
"No. Pies, salty/fatty snax and processed meats will remain a major part of our diets. Have no fear on that front, Tuppy."
"What on earth do you mean then? According to the ghastly Wilson, our diet is killing us. Salt, the silent killer. Kidneys like conkers. Fatty atheromas. Plaques. You name it, we've got it."
"Yes, but who is Wilson, really? what does he really know? all this so-called research that he bangs on about viz a viz our diets could be just a load of old pants, quite frankly. And look at the state of him! So pale and scrawny. And that's him living on seaweed."
"Or so he says, Geoffrey. I've often suspected he might supplement his so-called diet with something else...but more of that later. I agree he does look as if he could do with a good feed."
"Yes and he's SO tense all the time! ranting on about people's mortality and getting worked up."
"Yes. I'm surprised that HE doesn't have a heart attack. He wants to chill out a bit. Anyway enough about Wilson. Get back to the point, please, Geoffrey. You were saying that we haven't given up on the idea that death could be avoidable?"
"Of course we haven't. But we might as well digress for a bit to consider what might happen should death occur - afterwards."
"Oh." I must say my heart sank as I contemplated this ghastliness. All sorts of depressing scenarios flooded my brain. Life without Geoffrey! And never mind that - would there be madeira, and crisps?
"No, Geoffrey, this won't do at all. This is depressing the hell out of me. We'll have to return to sunnier climes, viz., is Death Avoidable. And pass me that plateful of korn bif and salad cream sandwiches while you're at it."