Day 56

5.03: The world’s a giddying frog shower of possibilities. It’s huge for a start, and filled with 7 billion or so folk, all bumping along like marbles being fired out of a great cosmic woodchipper.

As Thomas Truax‘s dog Doug said to him, “When was the last time you looked up at the stars and reaslised how small and insignificant you really are?”

Raymond Queneau had a go at expressing the same thought. By nature, he was less pithy than Doug the Dog, but probably more intelligent.

Intelligent enough in fact that he invented this flip book of sonnets called “Hundred Thousand Billion Poems” which is in fact a set of ten poems printed on card so the lines from each can be substituted for one another, producing the possible hundred thousand billion potential sonnets. No one could possibly read them all over their lifetime, but they all exist, like unborn twinkling stars of rhyme and smarts.

When you have an organ transplant, it’s easy to feel a bit like a game of consequences where someone’s drawn the midriff of a clown into your chef-suit of a body. It’s miraculous to me that the little hunk of meat substituted into my gut works at all.

Still, for me it was relatively easy. Someone very likely to be a good match offered to give me a kidney. Other folk aren’t so lucky, which is why it’s a miraculous feat of admin and probability that they’re now matching up three-way combinations of donors and recipients. A sestet of patients, each mismatching their spouse or loved-one, but willing to have themselves turned in the organ donor’s tombola to seek a solution.

A six-way inter-match plucked from the 7 billion. Just imagine the size of the poemy flip book you’d need to pull that off.

6.54: All told, not such a bad morning. The word count’s back up to scratch, and it was a nice little scene I thought too. Last time this happened adversity struck just as I was hitting my stride, so tin hats on everyone: the killer bees I’m sure are already in flight.

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~ by David Thorley on March 9, 2010.

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