I am always talking to you and I am sad that you can’t hear
Looking for comfort in all the wrong places as usual, I returned to the Spiritualist Church last night. The medium was a trembling charlatan who alienated the congregation with her vagaries and generalisations. My dog has demonstrated more evidence of clairvoyance than she did. It’s perhaps not surprising that an attempt to find meaning in life by contemplating death proved futile. A friend of mine who used to suffer from depression told me that his melancholic disposition cheered considerably when he realised that death was inevitable.