clap hands π
clap hands. my hands are tools. sometimes, they are little shovels digging in the garden or little scissors tearing basil to make pesto. sometimes, they are little oars or fins helping me navigate through the lagoon near to where we live. sometimes, they play music: the keys on my accordion, strings on my banjo, jaranas, or ukuleles. lately though, my favourite tool-use for my hands is typing. it is as if my fingers have little mouths. they are speaking to you. they are speaking to me and for me. mouth shut. tongue tentacle safely in its cave. out come the hands! clasp hands! clap hands! what a joy are our magnificent hands!
and by the way he had written a book on the hand, and he said βthe handβ, here, βis a universal tool!β there you are, itβs a universal tool, that is to say that with the hand, which doesnβt do anything, even in comparison with the crabβs pincers, in comparison with the squidβs tentacle, or in comparison with the horseβs hoof. it doesnβt serve one function; it does everything.
β³ michel serres