Ooh, a theoretical one. Regular readers will be fully aware that theoretical, mind-opening, trippy, hippy questions are my favourites. These very same readers will also be fully aware that I adore sarcasm.
I’m going to be a bit clever or, more correctly, lazy, in narrowing down the vast array of objects in the world to objects in the room I am in. This room is my bedroom. And looking around my room got me thinking – it’s not nice being an object. Try to think of an object that you wouldn’t mind being. Not easy, is it?
Being my toothbrush, for example, would be a disgusting life, as would be the case being the mouldy food on the windowsill. Being my iPad would be creepy. Somebody stroking you all day. Being my baseball bat would hurt, as would be the case being the baseball. Being any one of my CD’s would be dizzying. Being any of my photos would leave me insecure. All those staring eyes. And being the toilet paper – well, yes, let’s leave that there. There’s a reason I have toilet paper in my bedroom, but it’s irrelevant.
There is one object, though, that would be sweet to be. My guitar. I can’t play her but many thousands of people could. Yes, the artistry is in the fingers of the musician, but the origin of the distinctive tones is equally is important. It gives life to sound, life to imagination, life to heart and soul, and life to life. It would be a very special thing to be, indeed.
What object would you be, readers?
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