Skip to main content


Showing posts from February, 2013

winter miscellany

Whoah whoah whoah whoah whoah:
Unrequited friendship is rare; we find it very hard to like people who dislike us. (And the reasons it's so easy to love those who do not love us... are scary and we'll leave the question alone.)

The most scandalous book I've ever read is not by the Marquis de Sade or David Benatar (and is certainly not Fifty Shades of Grey). No; for I recently picked up Roald Dahl's 1979 comedy My Uncle Oswald. In it, the eponymous rogue, along with a livestock scientist and a beautiful accomplice ("Yasmin Howcomely, a girl absolutely soaked in sex") set about date-raping the great men of early C20th Europe. Then blackmailing them. And stealing their semen, to sell off. No, really; rape is the principal plot device of this short comic novel. By drugging such figures as Monet and Proust with a psychotic aphrodisiac …

simplified humanism

death can't resist us;
we batter down death's door,
unconcerned about our lateness
and the shit we track into
death's carpets.

death is a meek curate, tolerant
and up all hours just in case.
Pray spare death.
Neither go gentle nor brash headlong
into death's good night, the pavement.

we might let death retire -
revoke our entitlement -
give over giving out -
somehow leave death alone.