Just had startling thought. Will now have to rethink blossoming career as a crime writer. It’s annoying.
Why would anyone murder anyone?
Let the thought melt. Let its aftertaste linger. Before you jump in with an answer.
It doesn’t make sense. Leaving aside crimes of passion, heat of the moment, perversions, why would I risk execution or sitting my days out in the claustrophobia of a cell because someone has evoked my wrath?
It amounts to that trite, yet true, ”cutting off your nose to spite your face/ shooting oneself in the foot.” The person who might hope to be killed by my own fairly strong hands does not exist. Do I look stupid or something? Why would I give YOU the satisfaction?
Yes, I know it’s Christmas. And my Ode to the Tree, as yet not written, will be forthcoming. However, you can’t blame my brain for fermenting the most profound whilst making pastry.
Back to Bach.
U
