Old Acquaintance

When you read a book about memory, be it a memoir or novel, do you ever make up some happy ending and start to dread every passing remark by the narrator about what actually happened? They’ve got to be teasing you. There’s no way they’re unaware of the hope they inspire with their recurring monologues about What Could Have Been, their casual hints at a blooming love affair that never made it past the stage of fantasy. It’s torturous! So your only solace is wishing hindsight away.

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Just Deserts

On Meritocracy and Mouse Poop

[I]t is only by reconciling contradictions that power can be retained indefinitely. In no other way could the ancient cycle be broken. If human equality is to be for ever averted — if the High, as we have called them, are to keep their places permanently — then the prevailing mental condition must be controlled insanity.

— George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

Let me ask you a personal question. What’s the grade you’re most proud of in your life? For myself I couldn’t pick a favourite. But a very strong contender would be an Ethics test I took in my penultimate year of secondary school, graded by the single grumpiest and hardest-to-please teacher I’ve ever had, Mr H.

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Reign of the Table

With a large part of the populus at war with various long-standing and once-believed-sensible institutions — government, the economy, even society itself — it comes as no surprise that our timeless scorn of bureaucracy hasn’t let up either. In fact, you could make a good case for this shared hatred to have the potential to bridge the political divide that has been growing in many Western countries. Finally, something on which we can all agree.

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Food for Thought

Or, Theseus’ Chewing Gum

I’ve always been interested in the idea of boundaries. Specifically, the boundaries between categories. For the longest time, I’ve been trying to make sense of categories we assign to objects of all kinds by thinking about food. From what point on can grain be considered food, for instance? As soon as it’s edible? As soon as it’s been processed into the product it was planted to become? What if what you eat was never deliberately planted? That berry you picked off of that roadside bush — was it “born” food or not?

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Buoyant, Barely

A Descriptive Essay

The hour has come round at last. You have to pull up the weight of your body fast enough not to fall back on your bedsheet. It’s still warm, that sheet — your skin knows that. Why did you leave the window open overnight. Your skin has a reason to be pissed at you. (Take that shiver — you’ve earned it, you bastard.) Your drooping eyelids hesitate to greet the light of day. Continue reading