… or, is literature an antidote to the destructive forces in the world?
“—One day I was a goldfish, and… One day I was a goldfish, and…” repeated Gerald all day long. He could never think through a single sentence. Besides, of course that he was a goldfish and he hasn’t changed, he is still a goldfish. Ha, but he never remembers this simple fact! I could not be mad at him because I knew that he was trying hard. But what do you expect of a friend with a span of two seconds of memory: he could try as hard as he wanted, it wouldn’t change anything, he would never be able to finish a simple sentence. Eight syllables, that was already a great achievement for a goldfish named Gerald. Even though I would like to explain it to him, he would forget the beginning of my sentence before I even reach the end of it. Besides, Gerald could not care less about learning the history but as an upside of his condition he never got himself into any troubles. He was just a quiet little goldfish. So, I decided to take care of him, I fed him and I watched him swimming around and around in the same round jar all day long. Though I found that watching at Gerald eating his tail was just perfect for allowing me to meditate in a serious fashion. Continue reading