Normally I expect to have more time at the weekend but refitting and expanding the office meant that most of my creative energy was used up. No sketches then and a rather death themed post.
I wandered around the Greyfriar’s cemetary in Perth, nearby would have been a Franciscan Monastery once upon a time before Henry VIII’s need for an heir lead to his spat with Rome.
Thoughts on Deletion
In Doctor Who the Cybermen say “delete, delete” whilst the Darleks say “exterminate”. Well that is the modern Cybermen, I don’t think they said that when I was a child. Either way, the person they are shooting at usually dies very suddenly (unless you’re The Doctor of course). And to me, deletion, is a sudden action. Something can be and then can quickly not be. I remember seeing my father in a coffin. The person looked quite a lot like my father, but it wasn’t him. It was incomprehensible to me that my Dad could have been in that body and just suddenly got “lost”. The essence of my Dad had been deleted somehow. Now logically I know that the body has stopped functioning. That oxygenated blood no longer flowed in the arteries. That the organic processes that made him could no longer work. My father was more than organic processes though and however hard it would be to get that body working again, it could never be my father because the brain would have been wiped of memories. Rebooting bodies is not an option. In the digital world things can be deleted and recovered fairly easy but I wonder if spending all out time using things that can be reversed makes us forget that in the real world things can be much more delicate. I came out of the office building on Saturday and found somebody blocking the doorway. They have been sick on the steps between the outer and inner door. I took one look at the puddle and said, “Oh great, was the road not good enough for you?”. I was having a tough day and all my initial thoughts were around me leaving the door open and giving access to the area, of me having to clean up someone else’s vomit. I felt bad whilst walking back to my car. When I’ve been sick, it is rarely voluntary where the vomit landed. For someone that has been through so much illness, I showed so little compassion. A young woman was suffering and all I could think about was myself. I drove past the office wishing that I could offer her a lift home, but she had gone by then. Too little, too late, I hated myself for that. I wish I could delete the sentence I launched without thought. I wish I could have deleted the blood clot that killed my Dad. I can’t though. The damage is done.