Rabid man, frothing in the square. Yelling about the end of the world. The rising seas, the burning forests, the creeping deserts. Who are you shouting at? Why? Even if there are people among this busy crowd that care, they don’t want to be yelled at. Warnings about the end of civilisation must be whispered gently, spooned into our mouths like delicate slithers of cheesecake.
You’re getting yourself cold and wet in this Edinburgh rain for no good reason. They’re going to think you are a radical. That you might do something insane. They’re not going to heed a word out of your frantic mouth, and so you might beat harder against the glass, as the glass tank we’re all trapped in sinks lower into the depths of the ocean.
Paddy Dobson
15th November 2022