Tim Minchin's Storm is a 10 minute beat poem (yep, that's right) about what happens when sceptic, Minchin is forced to converse with hippy, Storm, about the deeper things in life at a London dinner party.
I'm a big fan on Tim Minchin in general but it has to be said, 'Storm' is undoubtedly his piece de resistance. If you have ten minutes to spare WATCH IT:
In my opinion, it's pure genius and echoes (albeit more eloquently) my own rather sceptical views on some of the more supernatural elements of this world and in particular the morality of psychics:
“Why is it OK
For people to pretend they can talk to the dead?
Is it not totally fucked in the head
Lying to some crying woman whose child has died
And telling her you’re in touch with the other side?
That’s just fundamentally sick”
One of the other major aspects of the poem that resonates with me is the assertion that this world should surely be enough for us without needing to look for deeper meaning:
“Isn’t this enough?
Just this world?
Just this beautiful, complex
Wonderfully unfathomable, NATURAL world?
How does it so fail to hold our attention
That we have to diminish it with the invention
Of cheap, man-made Myths and Monsters?”
Of course it's very easy to be satisfied with the world around you when it's a glorious sunny Friday morning in Cardiff.