Pretty disgusting things

Day 77: a bowl of cereals with milk; pasta with ragù; 1 fennel, 2 plaice fillets, 1 potato; red wine.

Yesterday’s pretty picture of the bow of my boat got a few likes on Instagram. Not many likes, but many more than my poo bags usually get. Even those who have never liked my bags gave a like to that boat picture. Even those who I know have never read a post from my blog, liked that picture. Because it’s pretty. And Instagram is a place for pretty things. I bet this picture of yellow flowers will fool some of you and you will give it a like before realising it has a bag of shit right in the middle.

How do you reconcile the heavenly smell of daffodils with the toxic vapours emanating from my sealed poo? Well, you don’t. And that’s fine. You go with that tension and see where it takes you. That’s the whole point. It can happen, for example, that you like someone but they vote for the Tories. How do you deal with that. You try to find some common points I guess. But it’s difficult to deal with that in a constructive way which does not include obliterating that fact or trying desperately to convert them. Things are not simple most of the time. Especially in this fucked up world. Except for love, apparently. People who are in love say you know it’s right because it’s simple. OK.

The thing is, the stuff I write in this blog is generally pretty, in my non-biased opinion of myself. But non-pretty poo bags stop some people from getting here. They judge the book from the cover. And they don’t know what they’re missing out. I can rely on tricks to get some of you to read. Daffodils and stuff like that. And I must admit I take a certain degree of pleasure in infantalising you this way. I like a bit of power. Just like everyone else. But I think you need to question why you hate poo so much. You produce it. Just like everyone else. So what’s the problem?


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