Friday, 22 February 2013

Not so much rotten, but not that fresh either

Children, man, I just don't get it.

I get the feeling I'm being subconsciously over-cautious, perhaps due to dreams concerning cheeses which have caused visions of Irish medium assassins in the thickets, waiting to leap upon my every syllable. But that's not what this is about here - this is freeing, sprouting wings and taking to the air of thought. I gotta remember that.

Anyway, children. I suppose I don't know what they're for really. Never entirely grasped the concept. I mean maybe you have children in case you're short of food and you've popped out these little lumps of meat on legs that are easy to catch and fit on a spit easily. Is that it? But then what are all the fucking pampers adverts about, with the mothers flicking their tongues over the rectums of babies? Is it over-devotion to your next meal or just the simple whoring, baseless nature of money that advertising brings? Or women just subconsciously want to fuck babies - that is a growing 3rd possibility.

In any animal population where the population is in flux or given to high mortality, reproduction is understandable, you know, keep the beanies in stock and all that. But the human race isn't really on the endangered species list. So maybe all this baby shit is just accessorising your existence. But we have designer bags and fucking chihuahuas for that already.

Then again this could be a part of my grim fascination to do with nest-making around these parts. Watching people get into dating and then relationships and then get a house together and then decay in slow motion. Sometimes I railed against it, taking a puzzled (and often hurt ego-driven) attitude towards what women were settling for. The men they are so keen to spend the rest of their lives with have always looked like they've been stitched together from disparate body parts from a previous night's grave robbing and without even a fraction of the mind or personality. At least Boris Karloff's monster had some elan and grace to him; these's like the end of the fucking world. Somebody had pulled the switch and all there can be is wasteland. Though they are violent bastards, albeit mindless violence, and they can aim well enough to spunk their load into a pussy to make more fucking children. So they have some basic skills and fall easily into the state of matrimony...Which is kind of like 'Full Metal Jacket' except with white dresses.

But then it occurred to me...Perhaps I was colouring these ladies with a personality, sass and attraction they never had in the first place. Perhaps they were just as lifeless as the lumpen arseholes they had chosen to spend (or suspend more likely) their existence with. So...they were idiots too! That's the problem with sexual attraction; you give what you're attracted to more credit than it's due. Any sheep shagger will tell you that I'm sure.

So sez the grand wazoo eh? I dunno, I knew I had the instinct to settle down at some point and procreate and all that baby shit. But there was always something which distracted me or I never engaged in it with any enthusiasm; more with fear and suspicion. As the world turns on there is still something else to do. If there is some Homebase gene to kick in, it's fucking reductive, I tell ye! Probably to me it is just shit and I concern myself more with the blank of the rest.

Fuck. The world is formed enough of this mordant shit. We need the nonsense to return here and quick!


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