And Lady Macbeth, she scrubbed until she bled

I am certain that there are purists amongst our number who will tell me, authoritatively and with an enviable certainty in their unwavering voice, that white is not a colour. As such, not a colour.

Whatever it may be then, the perfection of it irks me, annoys me, makes me shift uncomfortably in my blotchy, pasty, pink European skin. Which only the outdated curiosities of this language call white, too.

It’s that alleged purity. Stripped white bodies, stripped white bones, stripped white walls, even stripped white saints, reclothed in brilliant white robes and lying prostrate on crisp white sheets awaiting eternal salvation. The white light is the closest they get. It’s not quite heaven, but they let their spirit ooze with droplets of white as they edge ever closer to ecstasy, via temporary damnation.

Ironically, I don’t like the purity. I don’t follow the purists. I rarely wear white unless I am sure that I have scrubbed myself as religiously clean as an agnostic can ever be. For me, a white sky begs to be daubed with smashed clouds and vapour trails, splattered with storm fronts and tumultuous greys. Whites of eyes make me nervous, and the white of spittle foaming at the mouth makes me retch. Even off-white - the off-white of those curtains fluttering in the longed-for breeze, the off-white walls that tell of hurried decoration by get-rich-quick landlords - just makes me wish it could finally achieve the unsullied virgin state it so desires, so nearly reaches.

Even this white page is sullied. I have been attacking it with every substance, every cleanser, every detergent, every active agent within reach, and yet it’s still blackened with specks of filth, grime and depravity untold.

We are all off-white here. We can’t go back to the white shell, the white of the egg, the white stains on the bedclothes. We might want to return to the once upon a time, to where we began, to whatever we were before the dirty reality of discolouration and overuse set in, but nothing washes whiter than white except in advertisements.

Comments: 8

    We might want to return to the once upon a time, to where we began, to whatever we were before the dirty reality of discolouration and overuse set in…” - yes. Brilliant.

    Also can’t resist formulating comments about “…the white stains on the bedclothes”, but i shall bite my tongue. Couple that, however with “depravity untold” and oh my!

    K | 07.28.08, 21:32

    I don’t know, I quite like the soft white of a wensleydale, or the pungent starkness of feta, the luscious off-white creaminess of brie, in direct contrast to its bright white rind. Mmmm?

    Ani | 07.30.08, 20:21

    K - I shall not be commenting any further on white stains or depravity. Readers of An Unreliable Witness are, after all, noted for their innocent nature.

    Ani - Please stop coming round here spouting your cheese p*rn. Not only are the readers of An Unreliable Witness noted for their innocent nature, but many of them have dairy allergies.

    An Unreliable Witness | 08.01.08, 12:28

    Oh, you mentioned innocence twice. Such a snow-white pure (mis)concept(ion). I’m scared of whiteness anyway. And having a dairy allergy.

    Lore | 08.01.08, 17:49

    Oh! Ani! She has a point. I would add Buffala Mozzarella looking like a still-crumpled baby in its milky water womb.

    And your post made me think back to my first bathroom in London. All white tile and long white bath and white white white that when I lay in the bath I felt transported to a sanatorium, which was oddly refreshing.

    clarissa | 08.02.08, 09:25

    I like white… not for the purity and not for the cleanliness of it, but you cant really hide anything on white… stains, writing.. it is all clear and visible for the so called “naked” eye to see. No secrets no surprises no disappointment.
    I love your wordiness though Mr Unreliable, I have been here many times quietly in the corner behind the curtain and you have never failed to make me smile or cry depending on the post. I thought it was time for me to you know come out from behind the curtain and say hello… so “hello!” *waves*

    p.s Ani’s cheese p*rn? THAT I would be very interested in reading

    lex | 08.04.08, 13:47

    Mr Unreliable you never fail to surprise me, cheese p*rn??? *smiles*
    I agree with lex… there are no surprises with white. It is bland and open and unshocking. What more could you ask for Mr Unreliable?
    Though I do think it a very self-righteous colour… colour? hue? whatever it is. It thinks very highly of itself.
    I know I haven’t left a comment in a very long little while, but here I am again! and off I go. Toodlepip

    Rachel | 08.04.08, 18:46

    Ahem. Have you gone on holiday with everyone else?

    Ani | 08.07.08, 19:30

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