Life is not filed away and redigested for market consumption, not filtered, not edited for suitable broadcast watershed time slots, not watered down or diluted for mass appeal. We do not receive it in little perfect podcasts of pertinent fact, tailored to a particular audience, not screened and rehashed and reconstituted and reshaped. It is not a comfortable size or shape, not adjusted for optimal letterbox conformity, not gift-wrapped in foil and glittery bows, neatly packed and packaged for that ultimate and intimate holiday surprise. It instead comes to us through no sanitising gauze, no sterilising treatment to make it fit for purpose. No. It is thrown at us in a haphazard and sticky mess. We edit it and digest it ourselves. We filter out impurities in here, inside, in our heads and hearts and make all our decisions based on gut feeling and on inherent traits and the understanding of good and bad, right and wrong, black and white, sweet and sour, sugar and spice. We have to disemble and disinfect. It’s not a shrink-wrapped, pre-packed, aesthetically pleasing, plastic-coated, ultra heat-treated food parcel. Homogenised. Pasteurised skimmed or semi-skimmed. Full fat. Half fat. No fat low fat. No added sugar. Sugar free. It is none of these and all of them. It’s a smorgasbord of infinitely different tastes, textures and sounds. Sometimes it makes us laugh. Sometimes it makes us cry. But always. It. Makes. Us. Live.
© M.H.
Marc's poetry and musings 