Sympathy in White Major

There is no one better to read upon returning home from work than Philip Larkin:

When I drop four cubes of ice

Chimingly in a glass, and add

Three goes of gin, a lemon slice,

And let a ten ounce tonic void

In foaming gulps until it smothers

Everything else up to the edge,

I lift the lot in private pledge: 

He devoted his life to others.

And so it was the your wee fattmeister this afternoon.  A sudden desire for a G and T in the English tradition (lemon not lime).  And of course it worked, perfectly, sublimely.  Thus it is with ambrosia.  

The devil is among us

Superstitious people intrigue me.  I wish I could believe in supernatural causes and explanations for the phenomena that I apprehend all around me.  Unfortunately, the data suggest that things are pretty much as they appear--the sun rises in the east and sets in the west; animals (people included) root around for food and sex and eventually give out and die; if you hear something go bump in the night it's likely vermin and not some ghost or angel.  Prayers and ritual appear (at least from all available data) to have no effect on the world, so then why delude one's self into thinking that they might?  Seems rather absurd to me.  

Of course people are fundamentally frightened--scared rabbits trying to figure out the proper method or ritual of rumination that will stave off the pack of ravening coyotes that even now has their scent.  I live most of every day in terror--fully apprehending how many things can go wrong at any given minute, knowing full well that my clock is winding down--and yet I cannot bring myself to embrace some obvious delusion in exchange for a few fleeting minutes of solace--a trade of integrity for cold comfort.  

There is a god and his name is Chaos.  Everything is coming apart at the seams.  The molecular structure of each and every one of us is degrading, and with it the consciousness locked within.  

Did I mention I picked up a growler at the brew pub last night? Time to bust into that bad boy.  

Too harsh? Okay, maybe a little

Perhaps the last post was a little harsh.  But doggone it, Baby Fatt struggles mightily with the idiocy that so surrounds one wherever one might go in Amerikkka.  If Baby Fatt hates our country, well, it's because our country hated Baby Fatt first.

When Baby Fatt was just a wee slip of a thing (Itty Bitty Fatt) he searched everywhere for meaning, and all he found was a herd in search of shiny gee gaws, a whole society convinced that the world was seven thousand years old, and that a guy who'd been executed by the state (yet another reason why capital punishment should be outlawed) arose from the dead three days later to ascend into heaven (there's as much evidence for the existence of the Easter Bunny, by the way).  And when Baby Fatt raised questions about all of these issues (and many more) then Baby Fatt became the one who was hunted, oppressed, derided, shunned.  Our idiocracy tried to shame Baby Fatt, when it is the idiocracy who should be ashamed.  

And so Baby Fatt struggles against allowing the scum herd to inculcate in him bitterness or spite.  Sometimes--as witnessed by the last post--bitterness and spite wins.  Sometimes, as tonight (after brining home a fat growler from the local brew pub) everything in Baby Fatt's world is sweetness and light.  

Growler good.  

Why Baby Fatt's house stinks to high heaven

Because there is no heaven.  There is a god and his name is chaos.  Other than that what exactly is it that you desire--some sense of meaning, some indication that your little excuse for a life counts for something?  Sorry! You are an idiot, and so is everyone you know.  Go away.  Die.  Suffer.  No one cares, and you are a fool for even considering the question (does someone care?).  If you had any identity or character you would  just live, and all these stupid questions would have no meaning.  As it is, since you are reading this? Well, there you go, so sorry.  Go away and Be.  Baby Fatt could not care less.  

PS:  share this with all your friends. 

They shot the wrong simian

One scarcely knows where to begin with regard to the story of the chimp shot by police in Connecticut.  I feel for the chimp: imprisoned since infancy by some idiot human in order to meet god only knows what sort of sick dependency needs, finally to escape and try to get a little pay back, only to be gunned down by the pigs.  The woman who imprisoned and thereby abused this poor chimp is of course to blame, but then she just shares that blame with anyone who has ever visited a zoo--more animal prisoners captured so some strange bipedal species can gloat in imagined superiority.

We speak of "animals" as if they were somehow separate from our species.  How utterly, stupidly delusional!  We are merely the most recent apex predator (see Tyrannosaurus Rex), and we'll get our comeuppance soon enough.  What is truly unfortunate is how we will, in the meantime, make all the other animals suffer because of our delusions of fleshy divinity (as if anything could ever be 'super natural'--ha!).

There have recently been a couple of really cool documentaries on cable.  Both (one, I think on the History Channel, the other on the Discovery Channel) use computer animation to show what would happen to the planet over time if humans were to disappear.  What a lovely vision they both show! What a beautiful thing to be hoped for!

Meanwhile, humanity's more than willing to give in to its bestial nature when it comes to breeding--more and more unnecessary human animals eating and shitting and mewling in tantrums of frustration.  Just what the world needs.  

We should take care lest the animals all get together to murder us in our sleep.  

Why I hate the world

Because it is full of people.  Did you ever see some fresh young couple pushing a stroller with a cherub-cheeked little fleshball in it?  Great, just what the world needs: more people.  Children are another form of pollution.  Spay and neuter your pets--and yourself and everyone you know.  If you love Mother Earth, do her a favor and stop breeding.