Why are black-and-white pictures called black-and-white pictures
when there is so much colour in them—so much unadulterated life?
At least the gown and tuxedo look better in them, and the wrinkles
become refined, as do the tears. And the trifling details fade away,
like the ones we hoped to capture in them.
We are peculiar creatures, acting in bizarre ways.
For instance, no one minds when I casually talk
about my lunch or brushing teeth at least twice a day,
but even the mere mention of things like excretion
or masturbation makes everyone uneasy, to say the least.
Or another trivial example: we swallow about two pints
of saliva per day, but try to spit some into a glass
and then drink it without a gag reflex. I’m quite sure
even just thinking about it sends a shiver down your spine.
Of course, you could say that it is simply a matter of rising
above the level of beasts, let alone the refined taste
and sophistication we so readily attribute to ourselves
as a species exclusively. The thing is, we can play gods
all we want, but a monkey in a tuxedo is still a monkey.
hidden pilcrow 