Archive for January, 2013

In sickness and in hell

January 29, 2013

I wanted to write about Henry Rollins.  All kinds of wild, half-baked, this-way-and-that-way stuff.  I wanted to write about Bobby Fischer listening to the radio.  I wanted to write a live review of the shitty local metal night.

Instead I came upon a large goanna sitting in the middle of the road, staring out at the world with silent eyes, still alive but definitely not for much longer.  I stopped because I got excited when I saw a large goanna stretched out on the steaming pavement, thinking I might do my good deed for the day by convincing him to stop warming himself and safely to the side.  Instead I stopped and looked at him for a while, and as I slowly realized what had happened I began to wrench by hands in useless despair.  I stopped because I love my reptilian friends.  I don’t want to hold them or try and cuddle them, I just think that they get a bad rap, and somebody has to like the poor little devils.

A kid rode by on his bike and asked what was up.  I told him I didn’t think this guy was going to make it.  By all appearances, it looked like a happy, healthy goanna.  No blood nor ripped flesh, no obvious signs of harm.  But that was the problem.  He was, to use the childish term, “smooshed”.  From the inside.  As a car passed by and he/she/it opened it’s mouth, I could see that this was another casualty of this useless modern world.  Is there any more poignant metaphor about man v  world than roadkill?  With the exception of the few deer than manage to destroy a few cars each year (good on ’em, I say), mankind and our machines have become exquisite, efficient, and emotionless killers of all walks of life.  We can do it in an instant, and we are always eager to prove, whether deliberate or accidental.  The world is ill-equipped and powerless in our path.  They have fur, teeth, hides, claws, maybe some fangs and some poison to boot.  We’ve got 2 tonnes of metal machine muscle, places to be, and pavement to get us there.  Checkmate.

I guess all this rain has put me in a more brooding, melancholy frame of mind, and all I kept uttering was, “assholes.  Sorry.  Fucking Assholes.  Sorry.” I wasn’t apologizing to the kid for swearing in front of him.  I was apologizing to the goanna. The kid picked it up and rather unlovingly tossed it into the bushes by the side of the road, and we both went on our separate ways.  I have thought of little else today.

As of right now, I do kind of generally hate everything.  Mostly, I hate that smug thought, or rather, that smug forgetfulness that envelops us in the modern world.  Having said that, it’s probably safe to say that the past wasn’t much better.  Maybe for white, slave-owning males it was way better, but I find no evidence that we are any kinder, compassionate, less violent, or less destructive than any previous generation.  We are built to destroy, and rarely are we the ones that pay the price, except when we set ourselves against each other.  When not busy killing each other we have to find substitutes.  Today this goanna got

This isn’t supposed to be all “look at me, I’m a super-sensitive twat!”  I really just wanted to apologize to this poor goanna.  He was neither pretty nor ugly, but he had definitely made it to maturity, and that seemed like the biggest kick in the guts.  These things are pretty big.  Someone did this deliberately.  (Trust me, on this country road I was on it was definitely target practice).  Somebody probably laughed.

What do we take away from this?  Well, pretty much whatever you want.  You can become bitter and disillusioned, but that is a childish cop-out.  You could try and create something good from this by using it as a catalyst for positive change & effort, but that seems a tad fanciful and almost psychotic.  We can laugh madly and become fatalists, shaking the world by it’s dirty collar with our eyes rolling in our heads, screaming like lunatics and pressing onward into the insanity.  It depends.  Whatever you want to do it, it will fit.

I just think we’re assholes.  And I’m not done thinking about that just yet.  We are sick, but some days are better than others.  This was a bad day.

Not him, but you get the idea.

Not him, but you get the idea.

Peace and love,

-M

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