The introversion of croutons


It think this might be the best thing I ever found on the internet. It could even be that which completely sums me up, written by someone who’s a complete stranger, but somehow linked to me by quantum entanglement via the universe. It’s like I got a calling card from a kindred spirit, somewhere out there in the Heart of Gold. I almost don’t want to know any more about this person, but sometimes someone just hits you, like the introversion of croutons on Twitter:



I have no idea whose the simple surrealist voice is, and I don’t want to know. It’s another human, being human, or an alien being human. Or an alien being alien, or a human being alien. I don’t need to know this person, because they’re somehow telepathic through that universal link.

I’d like to know them though, because they made a difference. If I share it here, others might see it, and maybe even get it, if they think about it.

None of us are any stranger than another. We’re all the same, with differences which make us unique.

3 thoughts on “The introversion of croutons

  1. You are too kind…

    That was – at best – an attempt by me to see inside my own head. It’s something I can’t really do without others, whether they be a psychologist (as opposed to psychiatrist), or you, as in you, my reader(s). Sometimes I see something and it hits me. It could be something beautiful, which stirs my Stendhal Syndrome (not medically-recognised), or Pseudobulbar effect (a psychological disorder). Or it might be something so deeply amusing (to me) that it makes me laugh inside the body of the face which rarely smiles, except in irony.

    This crouton thing is so simple, and such a human way of expressing pessimistic suffering, it almost made me do a ‘LOL’. It appeals to my very deep, dark and specific brand of humour: Not typical gallows humour, much more sophisticated; a forum (on Facebook) where depressives can laugh at themselves in the company of others, away from those who could never understand the unique cocktail within each of the individual vessels which contain mental health. Ad campaigns, national and world days are all well and good – usually for a day or so – but it takes one to know one. Pessimist suffering is perhaps a bit self-flaggelation, but it’s in defiance of that which might otherwise take us over from inside.

    Pessimist suffering is not providing triggers, nor encouraging people to harm or kill themselves; it’s about laughing in the face of our own temptation. Pessimist suffering is handing someone a gun and laughing as they wonder if it’s what they really wanted. That group on Facebook is one I’ve found to be full of kindred spirits.

    There are no bad jokes shared among people who still understand the art of humour.

    As for the croutons, I prefer them in soup. ‘Word salad’ is an anagram of ‘A lad sword’ or ‘A slow road’, and I may use that in a future crossword (my cryptic puzzles are now on the blog).

    Liked by 1 person

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