Dear Ailsa

Dear Ailsa,

Hello there, how’s your day going? I’m at work somewhat bored yet mysteriously energetic and fidgety 😉 What better way to occupy my idlenss than writing you a letter. One way would be to do the job that they pay me for but there are so many reasons why that’s a non starter, none of them interesting. So, instead, here I am! Hello! (Again.)

You know that’s got me thinking, isn’t it amazing how much we repeat ourselves with out really saying anything? I don’t even mean you and I. We do better than most at talking and are distgustingly excellent at letters.

You know the little phrases we each have that we overuse like ‘okay’, ‘you know’ or ‘sort of’, that sort of thing. Yes, we need these to ease the flow of speech, but so often language gets so full of cliches that it creaks and groans. And annoyed by the way the tale is told we lose the thread of what was said.

Or we would if everything wasn’t so redundant. We (that’s you, me and everybody) are always asking and answering the same questions again and again. At the sill party last saturday I was telling the same story over and over again, answering enquiries and as I did anticipating the inevitable progression to the next question and answer. And so it goes.

I strived to change my style and once I almost even lied but rarely could I steer the small talk out of the small circles it always occupies. In fact there’s a paradoxically memetic effect to any idea that makes that successful escape. It bears repeating, one reaches new waters and newness is so pleasing that you linger.

So it is that you’ll find how if I’ve written something to you or on Urban that makes me particularly proud of the words I chose or that I’d simply like to telll again to some other audience, I would probably repeat myself, I would reuse something, I may even be inclined to post it on my blog. But you knew that, didn’t you. You know!


About caspar

Caspar is just one monkey among billions. Battering his keyboard without expectations even of peanuts, let alone of aping the Immortal Bard. By day he is an infantologist at Birkbeck Babylab, by night he runs
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