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August 28th 2009

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    That prospect of cultivating hens for their eggs has filled me with a series of anxieties which remind me that I belong amongst those with the personality of a tortoises.  So instead, for a while, I think perhaps I should appear as a hen on Facebook.  There will be no eggs, but that will not stop me from pretending there are.  

    My daily substance will belong to feather care, toiletries and egg color.  I will ask other hens to photograph me in bars, and this so I might not be assumed to lack the rakish character so central to that sectarian maverick-i-ness the well adjusted cling to with such passion.  Alternatively I could be a Christian hen and have myself photographed at the church door while wearing a bonnet, my wings around a clutch of properly fertilized seed.  Better perhaps to be a Muslim hen, then all that might be necessary is an image of my beak, a passport and a suitable slogan.  And then again I might be an otherwise spiritual hen, attached to some convoluted concept of goodness that only requires the cooing of long words to exist and which only I truly grasp.

 

    Central to this image though will be "what I am selling".  Or should I perhaps use the more neutral expression "why am I networking".  I am not ready to believe however that hens sell fantastic-ness or smugness or cuteness or look-at-me-ness or any one of those besotted images of self that a spell in the penitentiary is generally a good cure for.  I prefer to believe there might be something beyond the shrouds that tortoises see.

    Then there is the question of what is it I do on these pages, if not an attempt at one or all of the above mentioned frailties.  And here there is enlightenment, because after inspection of some of the eggs I have laid, I believe I am already a hen.  So, when sometime next spring I finally meet the reality of hen, I think we should get along just fine.

    An irritating immodesty you might think.  But then quite happily as a tortoise I am a pompous ass.

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tim candler

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