Where Are the Obvious Factoids
How many obvious facts have we encountered today? Four? Two? One? A dozen under a bushel of Alaskan gravel?
Your eyes and ears and nose can somethings lie to your brain. The simple flight of a monarch butterfly becomes a question mark to an expert sitting in Berkeley who cannot fathom how the gentle insect made it to Yosemite Falls without hitching a ride on the backpack of a kid from the Bronx, first time in the Sierras.
Which sense should we hold as true? Is seeing believing? Is hearing the exact same C-sharp from a Bach cello soloist the same as the one from the guitar of Sam the Younger in Marin City strumming "she'll be coming round the mountain" to his kids?
So, who is the expert?
With all of the "BIG DATA" screwing around on the "BIG CHESS BOARD" of the "SUPER INTERNET OF LIFE" and making us rank our experiences with the experiences of the "OTHERS" - what gives? Who's right?
You're right. I'm right. Given the circumstances. Given the circumstenches as my mate occasionally has put it.
Location, location, location.
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