James Scott

issue 1 - march 1994

I was running naked through a field of corn. The warm sun glowed on waving ears of gold as the wind washed through my hair. In the distance could be seen an Olympic size pool surrounded by numerous cake stalls. Leaping forward I eagerly sought my destination. Tears of joy glistened in my eyes as I crossed the last few yards and dove pool-ward.

There I was splashing around like a fool in love, maniacal laughter filling the air between gratuitous praises to the powers that be. Drinking my fill from the mythical pool of beer. A certain tenderness arose in my heart as I gazed upon the soft forms circling the pool. Every type was represented, pavlovas, cream buns, even dainty little shortcakes.

Thunder roared and the clouds darkened. The wind grew and I was spun without mercy, scant regard given for the cakes that stuffed my mouth. My hand slammed upon the clock and the alarm ceased. Removing the pillow from my throat, I grunted and was awake.

This type of experience often gets me thinking about the weird and wacky existence that is life. Sincerely I ask; well, what is the meaning?

Some folk like the big bang, others tend toward the big guy theory. All I know Is that my very distant ancestors used their elbows a lot and jostled more or less to the fore in the evolution race. Being Homo Sapien means adapting to the environment and an ability to change. And over the centuries there has been a helluva lot of change. From sturdy sticks to aluminum siding, from burning sticks to microwaves, from pointed sticks to cruise missiles. And here we are in the twentieth century and not a stick in sight.

Interestingly enough, it was the obverse thought that illuminated my brow this certain morning. What dreams and actions have remained constant along the span of time? What pursuits of human endeavour are as prevalent today as they were when Ogg was a child? Only two traits remain I can faithfully tell you - one being the innate urge to try to kill oneself by gouging way too much food at Christmas lunch, the other is the pursuit of whatever will make us happy.

Hedonistic; what a daring and bold world. Its very nature has many puritans running for cover. Yet it exists for the sole purpose of describing a doctrine of pleasure and happiness as the highest good. The Romans took it to new highs a way back. It thwarted prohibition in the twenties. It went hand in hand with the sixties, it was seduced by money in the eighties, and finally after many cold showers limped its way into the nineties. What we have today is new age Hedonism. Forged in our psyche is the preservation of a brittle environment, high cholesterol levels and some weird yellow cartoon characters as the only true reflection of family life in the media. This is our foundation on which we fumble blindly for happiness.

For some it is the brief stolen moment outside the office building with a cigarette. For others it is friends, their stash and Hendrixs. Moreover it can be holding hands with your partner and skipping through the grass in slow motion with soft music in the background. It is the small things; the skolling twenty cans of lager with the lads and passing out senseless. The delightful things; joining with thirty other searchers and doing the bus-stop at the disco. The trivial things; spending as much money as possible in the shortest amount of time, knowing full well it won't be remembered in the morning.

As George Chapman wrote, "He that shuns trifles must shun the world." And being one that never says no to desserts, I urge everybody to embrace their dreams and track them to the end of their world. Maybe one day you too will swim in the pool of beer.

James Scott

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EgoStrange Issue 1 Groovy Times produced 1994
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