{instinct}

What are we? A collection of codes, of genes, of microscopic spots? A pulsing bundle of wires and internal levers, wandering about the landscape in open-mouthed wonder, gaping at everything, waiting for the right signal to tell us what to do? Are we ever anything more than instinct?

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These fellows are from the SS Division Totenkopf, and so are from a path of being very hard indeed (by late 1943 casualties were such that virtually none of the original cadre were left, as evidenced by the young faces here), but when overrun by Allied forces in Normandy it was the instinct for self-preservation which won out, and they duly puddled into that broken mass called surrender.

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Meanwhile, the Canadian middle-class instinct to freeze in the headlights of anything that even feels controversial, to avoid, at all costs, offending anyone, anywhere, no matter what their beliefs, while at the same time making absolutely no effort to have an informed opinion about anything, continues unabated. And then we wonder why our politicians are so awful, like so many robots at Chuck E Cheese.

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Now who wants cookies?

Comments

  1. Hey, you know I'm usually 2 weeks behind, so I'm doing better this time, right ; )? I think what happened is that, since I'm in Europe, I posted in the middle of Thursday night U.S. time and then the word changed! Thanks for your kind comments though. I always enjoy what you bring to the table.

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  2. I want cookies! Me! Me! APPEASE MY INNER KINDERGÄRTNER AND COOKIE ME!

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  3. Well, it's good you follow your instinct and tell it as you see it! I am attracted to the somewhat stoic expression on the figures face in your painting... and just love the way she seems to moving upward against the brushstrokes. Very cool!

    I'd like a peanut butter cookie, please.

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  4. Obviously, you are unafraid to explore your creative instincts! Excellent blog.

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