Warm Recollections #9
More from the Bitz Files
As introduced here, these Warm Recollections are random cullings from thirty years of notes files…
Truth Math: the cost of telling the truth will almost never be as high as the cost of all the lies required to cover an untruth.
Expression remembered from a dream: ‘cubbing with’: hanging out with a person like they’re an old friend or sister or brother, who you shared a litter or cave with when you were boisterous little kids and the scary world outside was someone else’s problem.
“Ah, Romeo, Romeo — apparently you were merely the target of my muddle-headed projections and transference, a doomed search for a magical other. I can only apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Farewell. I must focus inside now, and fully engage the quest for individuation.”
“Look, are you dumping me?”
Seeing your young son laugh his head off at something you’re doing for his amusement… there may be nothing in the world more wonderful than that.
Externality. To everyone else, I’m just a middle-aged guy in the window of a bar in Amsterdam, smoking, drinking and making notes while watching the world go by. I am background color, at most. Countless people walk past without even registering that I exist, and take up space, and am real. My core unspoken belief that I am the centre of the universe is moronically dumb. I am statistically insignificant.
Having said which, I do wish the waitress would notice that I need another beer.
As always, if you can think of anyone who might enjoy this Substack, please spread the word.
'Cubbing with' brings back such lovely memories of hanging out and playing with my older brothers when we were children.
Coincidentally, we've arranged to go away for a night with our parents next week. Our first holiday with just the five of us since we were teenagers. My parents will have one hotel room and I'll be sharing another room with my brothers. I will carry 'cubbing with' with me as I spend quality time with the people who've known me longer than anyone else :)
Juliet starts writing her own narrative, one that is of no interest to any audience: an author's absolute nightmare. Shakespeare despairs that he no longer holds the power to direct her or kill her off, but, happily for him, she's cool with slinking off into obscurity. Meanwhile, Romeo remains young, dumb, and full of cum, so Shakespeare is able to recast the poor, misguided fool in different stories for the next 15 years, much to the delight of theatregoers worldwide... until comes the day that Romeo realises his own statistical insignificance, and hits up Juliet - who now runs her own psychotherapy practice in Florence - for help in navigating his mid-life crisis. All's well that ends well.