.
Look at my face it is an abstract, it is a white and ginger wall which signs are inscribed on, 'moggy', ‘ginger cat, ‘tom’ cat, 'sly' cat, 'cool' cat. But that is the appearance. But what about me, yes me, the real me, the black hole is which consciousness is lodged. As Kafka lamented, 'Why is it that the inner world can only be eperienced and not described?'.
Look, I know as I wander across roofs, jump from walls, sharpen my claws on trees, crouch at threats. I know that are at every turn when people (the other) see my face, the machine called ‘society’ will reject me. For faces that do not conform or seem suspicious are soon rejected. Oh yes.
Time to go back into my body for as Damassio argues the body is the self, and now I am crossing a busy road and believe me I have lost a lot of my friends in this way, so I understand that as the lunatics speed towards me it is the hairs on the back of my neck standing up that is my mind and will get me across this bloody road in one piece. Wooheee....phew, that was close.
Talk later.
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