The first things to go are our noses. They tear off our faces like they’ve been stolen by a giant invisible uncle. Then, unable to smell, we lift off the ground, propelled by our own stink lines. We are calm and civil about it. Not even our vehicles are safe from this rapture.
From the Wikipedia page: Hanged, drawn and quartered
Although the Act of Parliament defining high treason remains on the United Kingdom’s statute books, during a long period of 19th-century legal reform the sentence of hanging, drawing and quartering was changed to drawing, hanging until dead, and posthumous beheading and quartering, before being abolished in England in 1870. The death penalty for treason was abolished in 1998.
The 19th-century legal reform really softened penalties for those no-good traitors.
Hey son. You’ve been growing up real well, and I think it’s about time I talked to you about something important. My parents told it to me when I was a kid, and even though it was awkward and embarrassing, I was sure glad they did it. You may not appreciate this information now, or even a couple of years from now. But some day it will come in handy, and I hope when that day comes, you’ll thank your old man for telling it to you.
I’m talking about the birds and the bees. I know you know all about sex and fucking, and what parts girls have and what parts boys have. I’ve seen the internet tabs you leave open on the computer downstairs. Yes, I’m serious. And no, I’m not upset. Everyone does it. It’s something that everyone is interested in. No, there’s nothing wrong with it at all. I admit, your preference in material is different than mine. Quite different, if I can be honest with you, but that doesn’t matter. Filth is filth, son, and there’s no reason to feel bad about it. I’ll warn you though, some people don’t like to talk about it. It makes them uncomfortable. For this reason, it’s usually best to partake in this sort of thing in private. But I know that you’re a smart kid, and you’ll do what you think is best.
So, back on topic. The birds and the bees. To put it simply: you can’t fuck either of them. OK, yes, well maybe a bird. But you can’t fuck bees, that’s for sure. Actually, birds are also out. You wouldn’t be able to catch one, and even if you did, it would be pecking and scratching at you so much, it simply wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Not to mention, bird parts are a heck of a lot different than human parts. They just don’t work the same way. Well no, I don’t know how exactly they work, I just know it’s different. Too different. Bird dicks are a lot smaller than human dicks. And they’re shaped differently, too. I don’t know how they’re shaped, they’re just different. No, you wouldn’t be able to catch one, I’m sure of that. Well of course you could use a trap, but that’s not what I mean. You don’t want to be setting up a trap to catch birds so that you can fuck them! Son, that’s just not a good idea. You would make the bird unhappy. It would lose its feathers trying to fight you off, and then it wouldn’t be able to fly anymore. Do you want that? Of course you don’t. Just get the idea out of your head. Just stick to humans and see how that goes, OK? And yes, bees are definitely out. A hive? That is not a good idea either. Are you serious? Well if you really want to, go right ahead. No I have never fucked a hive before, but I guarantee that it will be both uncomfortable and extremely painful. The bees will always win that one, buddy. Just trust me, OK?
You’re a good kid, and you have a good head on your shoulders. I love you more than anything else, and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt, or for you to be confused about something. The world is a big place pal, and all we have is our wits and each other. We’re all in it together. We have to help each other out, especially about stuff like this.
Yes, that’s all I wanted to say. You’re welcome, son.
My last post had a link to the Wikipedia page for Compersion, which is a sub-section of the article on Polyamory. I found the article interesting, and I can dig polyamory as a relationship philosophy. It almost seems like a utopian relationship ideal, granted all parties involved can handle it. It’s also interesting that compersion is considered to be the “opposite of jealousy”, but it is noted that the feeling of compersion can often co-exist with jealousy, which when I think about it, makes perfect sense.
After reading the article, I was reminded of a chapter of Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut that I had just finished reading a few weeks ago. I found a PDF of the book online (here), and I’ve copied the related chapter below. (Forgive the formatting. Text surrounded by _underscores_ should be read as italicized.)
How I Almost Lost My Mona 93
“Do you find it easier to talk to me now?” Mona inquired.
“As though I’d known you for a thousand years,” I confessed.
I felt like crying. “I love you, Mona.”
“I love you.” She said it simply.
“What a fool Frank was!”
“Oh?”
“To give you up.”
“He did not love me. He was going to marry me only because
‘Papa’ wanted him to. He loves another.”
“Who?”
“A woman he knew in Ilium.”
The lucky woman had to be the wife of the owner of Jack’s
Hobby Shop. “He told you?”
“Tonight, when he freed me to marry you.”
“Mona?”
“Yes?”
“Is–is there anyone else in your life?”
She was puzzled. “Many,” she said at last.
“That you _love?_”
“I love everyone.”
“As–as much as me?”
“Yes.” She seemed to have no idea that this might bother me.
I got off the floor, sat in a chair, and started putting my
shoes and socks back on.
“I suppose you–you perform–you do what we just did with–
with other people?”
“_Boko-maru?_”
“_Boko-maru_.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want you to do it with anybody but me from now on,”
I declared.
Tears filled her eyes. She adored her promiscuity; was
angered that I should try to make her feel shame. “I make people
happy. Love is good, not bad.” “As your husband, I’ll want all your love for myself.”
She stared at me with widening eyes. “A _sin-wat!_”
“What was that?”
“A _sin-wat!_” she cried. “A man who wants all of somebody’s
love. That’s very bad.”
“In the case of marriage, I think it’s a very good thing.
It’s the only thing.”
She was still on the floor, and I, now with my shoes and
socks back on, was standing. I felt very tall, though I’m not very
tall; and I felt very strong, though I’m not very strong; and I
was a respectful stranger to my own voice. My voice had a metallic
authority that was new.
As I went on talking in ball-peen tones, it dawned on me what
was happening, what was happening already. I was already starting
to rule.
I told Mona that I had seen her performing a sort of vertical
_boko-maru_ with a pilot on the reviewing stand shortly after my
arrival. “You are to have nothing more to do with him,” I told
her. “What is his name?”
“I don’t even know,” she whispered. She was looking down now.
“And what about young Philip Castle?”
“You mean _boko-maru?_”
“I mean anything and everything. As I understand it, you two
grew up together.”
“Yes.”
“Bokonon tutored you both?”
“Yes.” The recollection made her radiant again.
“I suppose there was plenty of _boko-maruing_ in those days.”
“Oh, yes!” she said happily.
“You aren’t to see him any more, either. Is that clear?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I will not marry a _sin-wat_.” She stood. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” I was crushed.
“Bokonon tells us it is very wrong not to love everyone
exactly the same. What does _your_ religion say?”
“I–I don’t have one.”
“I _do_.”
I had stopped ruling. “I see you do,” I said.
“Good-bye, man-with-no-religion.” She went to the stone
staircase.
“Mona . . .”
She stopped. “Yes?”
“Could I have your religion, if I wanted it?”
“Of course.”
“I want it.”
“Good. I love you.” “And I love you,” I sighed.
I used to have a website page where I would list all of the open Wikipedia tabs in my browser. I added to the page for months, but it was inexplicably deleted from my website. I must have accidentally deleted it while drunk or something. It was a bummer. The list was really long – there was probably over a hundred interesting articles in the list – and since then I’ve just been letting my Wiki tabs die after I’ve finished reading them.
But not anymore! Here are the tabs that have been taking up the most horizontal space on my monitor.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compersion#Compersion
Compersion is an empathetic state of happiness and joy experienced when another individual experiences happiness and joy. Compersion has often been referred to as “the opposite of jealousy”.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sociosexual_orientation
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manufacturing_Consent
Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media (1988), by Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky, is an analysis of the news media, arguing that the mass media of the United States “are effective and powerful ideological institutions that carry out a system-supportive propaganda function by reliance on market forces, internalized assumptions, and self-censorship, and without overt coercion”
I haven’t read the book, but it sounds interesting. There is also a movie based on the book, made by some Canadian filmmakers that was released in 1992.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limited_hangout
A limited hangout, or partial hangout, is a public relations or propaganda technique that involves the release of previously hidden information in order to prevent a greater exposure of more important details.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KVLY-TV_mast
A really, really tall radio mast. This thing is huge.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burj_Khalifa
This thing is huger.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shanghai_Tower
Not quite as huge, but it looks like someone built a rectangular skyscraper, then twisted it.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Topping_out
In building construction, topping out (sometimes referred to as topping off) is a builders’ rite traditionally held when the last beam (or its equivalent) is placed atop a structure during its erection.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tallest_structure
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LZ_127_Graf_Zeppelin
This is a massive zeppelin. The pictures in the article are great. Also there is this impressive fact:
During its career the Graf Zeppelin flew more than 1.7 million km (1,056,000 miles) thus becoming the first aircraft in history to fly over a million miles, made 590 flights, 144 oceanic crossings (143 across the Atlantic, one across the Pacific), carried 13,110 passengers, and spent 17,177 hours aloft (the equivalent of 717 days, or nearly two years), all of which was accomplished without ever injuring a passenger or crewman.
We’ve done it.
Are you sure?
I think so.
Can you tell for certain?
Well, I just sent instructions to specimen B-286 to perform an aerial maneuver, and it has been performing it for over 15 minutes now.
Non-stop?
Non-stop.
Can you tell it to stop?
Sure.
…
It has stopped now.
What’s it doing?
Just sitting there.
Tell it to rub its eyes with its little arms.
Okay.
…
See?
Wow.
…
What does this mean?
I’m not sure. Nothing like this has ever been done before. The communicative possibilities are limitless.
We should probably begin with the prime directive.
We’re just going to inform them all, one at a time?
Well, what other option do we have?
I suppose we could try and fit the machine with some form of signal amplifier. That should allow us to target millions of individuals at the same time.
That’s a good idea. It would cost money though.
Do you really think money will be an issue after we release our official statement?
Good point.
…
Well, do you want to do it?
Sure.
…
Hello, housefly. I am a human. As you may have guessed, us humans have just created a machine that allows us to communicate intelligently with you. We cannot understand you, but we are confident that you can understand us. Fly in a figure eight three times if you can understand this message.
…
Perfect. Now that we have established this interaction, we will inform you of another invention we have created. It is called windows. It is made up of a substance called glass, which we invented a long time ago. These windows are nearly invisible to us, and we imagine, based on your behaviour, they are entirely invisible to you. To you, it probably appears like a surface without detail. You may feel as if you are walking on the air. This is an illusion. We have seen countless of your kind die at these windows. Your attempts to fly through them are all in vain. The only way to defeat the window is to go around, or to find a different route to your destination. Do not repeatedly try to fly through the window. You will never beat the window. Beginning now, if you would like us to let you through this window, stand very still, and oscillate your wings. We will notice these oscillations, then pick you up with our fingers and release you to the other side of the window. Please spread the message to your fellow flies and any other creature that may benefit from this knowledge. Do four barrel rolls if you understand.
…
Perfect.
My parents wanted me, their first-born son, to contract chicken pox. I was probably 12 or 15 years old. They knew a friend who had kids with chicken pox, and they invited themselves over to this friends’ house, bringing myself and my two sisters along to this contaminated zone. I can’t remember who the family was, it was too long ago. I do remember being told to hold their chicken pox’d baby and play with their chicken pox’d toddler. The toddler was like a little freckled Pippi Longstockings running around the yard. I chased half-assedly. Whenever I caught the kid, my parents would make me kiss the kid. I had to kiss the kid right on his chicken pox.
“It will be much worse if you get them when you’re older!” My parents assured me.
“What if I don’t get them at all?” I asked.
“You will. Just hug the baby.” They replied.
After an infectious romp that lasted some amount of time, we were back at home and I was expecting to break out in pimply bumps any day now. Days passed. Years could have passed, I can’t remember. I did get chicken pox eventually though. I was still in elementary school, which means it was sometime before Grade 7. I got to stay home as the bumps broke out all over my skin. They were itchy, though I remember that not itching them wasn’t as hard as people made it out to be.
“Do you have any chicken pox on your penis?” I remember my friends asking me as they stood in the porch of the house. I was swaddled in blankets on the couch.
“Ha ha, no.” I replied, eyes blank and unreadable. My parents shooed the friends away for fear they would contract what I had without their parents permission. They left on their bikes as I went to the bathroom to inspect my tiny penis. It had chicken pox on it. There were at least three. I itched them a little bit, just out of curiosity, then I left them alone. No one needed to know where I had the chicken pox. There were also some on my butt, and my balls.
I went back to school some amount of days later. The pox had left me, but the memory of having tiny dots on my penis lived on. Since my scratching self-control was so great, I was not marred with scars like some people I know. The chicken pox came and went, and it was mild. I suppose my parents were right, though I don’t know anyone who got the chicken pox at an older age. Maybe it’s because they’re all dead.