Tagged: purposeless play

chomolungma’s share

When I first read about Mallory and Irvine years ago — there was a plaque in a church to the latter, and I used to gaze at it as a child — I was fascinated and intrigued by the idea that two people could just vanish off the side of a mountain. The clouds came down, and when they disappeared, the climbers had disappeared too: a ghost story, really.

I’ve read enough about Everest since to get a sense of how unimagineably and breathtakingly vast it is: and now I think what strikes me, really, is that so little does actually vanish. Everything’s still there, of course; but the curious fact is that everything gets seen — it just doesn’t always get reported.

do not read if you hate subjective maps of the unconscious

When I was tidying up my CV a few months ago, a colleague suggested that the “complete” version should list every piece I ever wrote, and every dream I ever logged. I do kind of like this idea — if only for its obnoxious self-absorbed uselessness — but it will take a little work to go back and get the tags inserted. You can quite easily skip it, now and forever.