MAN KIND

This vile container of spleen and liver, appendix, ducts
And a brain upheld by reptilian cords older than the coldest rocks --
Easily pierced by soft steel or rusty bodkins --
Hath assert'd its dominion, as per instructions, over Earth and all the beasts:
Those of the field, those that swimme,
And the rest that mock us by flight and the flapping of wings.

And now the dead, extinct and nearly so
Crie out to the black heavens,
The heavens that house the phony gamekeeper
That Man hath fondled with his tongue, and worshipp'd
In writing
And seas of blood.



Oxenforde, 2009

THESPIANISM

Tonight, the actors and creators of moving pictures celebrate themselves in an orgy of schmooze and plunging necklines. Thespians. Balderdash.

When I was working upon the boards, awards were unheard of. Indeed, the journeymen players were lucky to have even a smallish carp tossed their way. Needless to say, when such occasions arose, 'twas usually in the midst of a rather longish soliloquy.

I remember just such a night. At the Palace it was. And I, as Hamlet, was struck full in the face by a not quite moribund eel. The men of the Company got a good chuckle out of that. (Still, the writhing serpent made a decent supper for myself and the rather delicate bloke who played Ophelia. Lovely, fair-haired lad. A sweet face he had and the most... Hold! Enough!)

Ah, memories.

Why is the world aghast at this? Thirteen is the perfect age for fatherhood. Plus, our wee man Alfie will likely be a grandfather at twenty-three... assuming his daughter rides the intelligence curve and gets herself knocked up when she's ten. (That'll certainly entertain the chaps down at the old Cock and Twat every night before last call.) And finances? Hell, the offers are pouring in.

In my day, 'twas not unusual for this to happen. In fact, it was encouraged. A man could never have too many heirs.... Which means Alfie and the lovely Mrs. Alfie will doubtless be trying for a boy this year. Best of luck, my lad. I see a Knighthood in your future.

ALCHEMY AND ECONOMICS

Modern egalitarian society owes much to alchemy. Had it not been for our wild conjectures, ludicrous experiments, explosions, seepage of toxic compounds, and the constant handling, inhalation and ingestion of manipulated lead, why, I daresay that our richest practitioners and benefactors would not have produced such a long line of moronic children. Indeed, once the brain is lost, can the estates be far behind?

Sounds a bit like that sub-prime mortgage business you modern lot have been bedazzled by. (I'd check both Wall Street and Main Street for lead poisoning. And Spanish spies. Especially the Spanish bastards. I fought the cunts, don't you know?)