The Friendless Desert

Haukin the Active Man (out of Piers Plowman) - he really is a type who just recurs, given our general discomfort with living, our need to fill the hours, our dislike of actual existence. And business, we call it modern survival, we give it the status of god, and we leave our minds at its feet, and use it as the reason for living nothing at all. We claim to be hunter-gathering, but all we do is build our own reputations, in the hope that when someone actually gets round to burying us, everyone else will really give a toss how high we went in our companies, and how much we earned, and how sorry we were we didn't spend enough time at home.

It is odd, that a species so given, and uniquely, as far as we know, to consciousness, should spend so much time escaping it. There are many types of escape, from drunkenness, to highs, to sleep, to sport, to death. Ultimately, all lead to death, inasmuch as all are intended to while away time - to bring death closer. This is what is meant by boredom. The desire to die, the fear of mere existence. There really is nothing of which to be afraid, unless you count self-awareness as a disease, as we seem to do.

Hence I have no interest in Haukin and his mates. I can occupy myself happily for hours just being. I love being; it is just life I loathe. There is no problem with my being. I love the feel of aching in my limbs, of my pulse in my throat, or my pulse in my wrist, I love the pain of my muscles. I can feel them, those parts of my body built with the remains of other bodies. I have so many birds and sheep and cows in my legs and arms. I don't mind as much as I should, that i cannibalise the parts from other beings to reduce the entropy in mine. If only Haukin and his pals would piss off and leave me alone, instead of demanding a monopoly on time and a unique interest in energy and intellect.

I like the idea that I am a locus against entropy.



"The Pharos Project!"





I build order and pattern; perhaps I am a CVE of embodiment, keeping the universe from total collapse for a mere x years. Or maybe I will in my turn become sheep and cow and tree. It doesn't really matter. Even as an Xtian it barely matters. I may dislike life, and try to be pissed as much as possible, but the thought of any real kind of non-existence, such as that represented by business, and the pull of busy-ness; fills me with dread.

And I am a capitalist.

Imagine that.