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COLOUR OF WORDS
i think we're living in a world where the only two words we have for colour are red and blue.
does that mean that collectively we don't even recognise yellow as a colour?
of course, all this kind of introspection won't butter the parsnips but what colour is the butter and how do the parsnips smell?
imagine all those scientists and philosophers and writers and poets and playwrights and godologists digging away in such earnest truth-mining and all they have to do is look up and think "yellow".
it sounds so simple yet it's so evasive.
and so, perhaps, it comes around to this: how guilty is it to have things in your head when the ability and opportunities to express them are so limited?
perhaps, sometimes, etherea can be more meaningful than kitchen sink drama.
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