Young and impressionable
That young minds can be impressionable is not something I would debate about, it is as self-evident as I can recall from my own experiences.
Only a few days ago, I caught the tail-end of a story by someone who was returning to a suburb in East-Africa and recalling that his father was one of the writers if not founder of the Drum Magazine [Source - Drum (magazine) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia].
Now, I remember, Dear Dolly, the agony aunt who handled letters of inquiry from people caught up in romantic dilemmas, however, there is one story that leaves the most indelible mark on my memory.
I read a story about a boy of about 10 years of age who had been murdered, that was bad enough, I was only 8 then – but the pictures of the scene of the murder and the body were so graphic beyond distress - the thoracic cavity was ripped open exposing the innards through the ribs, he might have been shot, but it looked like the boy was hacked to the death - and still, I returned to read the story and view the pictures to exacerbate my added discomfort.
Fiendishly Fried Friends
The one that brings on this blog is about another story that I read out of a comic-book, probably a Beano [Source - The Beano - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia]. One of the characters was longing to see a friend, so he took a picture of the friend, put it in a frying pan and gave it a deep-fry – in the next strip the friend appeared.
I cannot say how I arrived at the concept of fried appearances, but there have been times when that idea and thought has gained more than the occasional meditation about the madness that my imagination can evoke.
The statue awakens in my mind
So, now in Berlin, I am staying on Budapester Strasse and this is just past a technical institute where a towering statue of Alexander von Humboldt [Source - Alexander von Humboldt - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia] stands touching a globe.
In the day time, I would walk by the front of the statue without a thought, at night, I would cross the street to avoid walking by the statue.
In fact, I am no enthusiast of statues that have the human form in any place other than museums where they are locked up and have no hope of escaping.
Yes, escape – I did say that – a whole mix of experiences have ingrained in me the idea that statues of bronze, marble, carbon fibre or any kind of molding material can animate and take a swing at me.
Between reason and fear
I find it interesting that when I have no other alternative than to walk amongst statues at night, the debate and conflict goes on in my mind as sound reason battles to the death with irrational fear about what is likely to happen.
The statues keeping still or become a rampaging mob, running after me just to have the fun of scaring me stiff.
Now, I do wonder what you would make of the statue in Oosterpark in Amsterdam of a boy sitting on a horned goat – even the without the drums beats in the middle of night, I break down in cold sweat and I am close to the paralysis caused by irrational fear.