goldfish

I wonder what the goldfish do when we are asleep. It's easy to imagine them carrying out profound conversations regarding the state of the world, as knowledgable as they are from the scraps of newspaper they can read from the carpet of our living room, or from the halfwit conversations I have about postmodern thought. They talk about how we will all be washed away by the great storm, every single land-dwelling beast, and the world will become water in which they will govern, pioneers of a new exciting land, boldly racing towards the future with an ethos of peace and renewable energy, and as evolutiuon slowly kicks in the fish will attain the complexity of an advanced spiritual plane and probably be enlightened. The saviour of the universe!

Or perhaps they just climb out of the tank with their small fins and use the record player to listen to the Great Gatsby, waltzing slowly along the length of the mantlepiece.

Or maybe they just struggle for breath in the water we forgot to clean again, desperately hungry (for how easy it is to overlook on so busy a day) and hoping we get up soon so they might live another day.

I love those damn goldfish.