Monday, November 24, 2008

Why Modern Man is such a Hopeless Fucking Dope.

I'm probably not alone in observing that modern man doesn't really hold up much of a candle when compared to the likes of the old heroes - Beowulf strips down to his tattoos and single handedly boots Grendel's arse back into his mother's crevice, Achilles hacks off arms without breaking a sweat; hell, even James Bond still manages to kick some butt despite having being made to put a lid on the sexist remarks and grow a fledgling social conscience.
...Continued...

As Below, So above.

Back in the eighties, when I was young, and dumb, and dressed in black, not to mention still a virgin, I studied the occult - mainly with the extremely optimistic aim of majicking some poor cow's undies down.

Needless to say, though I learned the tetragrammaton, and all the sephiroth, and all the meanings of the Aleister Crowley tarot deck, it didn't work. Then I discovered that five pints of lager and a good song and dance in a night club worked much better. And I forgot all the esoteric knowledge of the Golden dawn. Save for one thing:

As above, so below.

The ultimate alchemical soundbyte....Continued...

Units of Inheritance.


The classic selfish gene of Dawkin's fame I think, is defunct. As a focus for inheritance it is too small, too narrow. The are of course examples of phenotypic expression that rely on single genes but they are by far in the minority. Genetisists were most puzzled when they conducted experiments that 'knocked out' certain genes, preventing them from expressing, to scrutinize the effects and so ascertain their function. They found out that a lot of the time, nothing happened at all. The body kept on trucking without any major lapses in biochemical function.

Something compensated for these artificially imposed abscences.
...Continued...

Saturday, November 22, 2008

The Extended Phenotype.

Notes on Dawkin's "Extended Phenotype"

...Continued...

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Thirteen ways to fall.

Falling she says. I’m falling.
And in turn I run.
Down the stairs and out the door
Slippers slip-slapping
Shirt-tails flip-flapping.
Crows feet at my eyes and arms outspread.
Like wings.
Heartflutter, mouthsplutter
Invective without directive.
Blood charging through my face.
I’m falling I say.
And sure enough -
I hit the ground full tilt like the world
turned 90 degrees in an instant.

Fallen. Felled. I feel battered, tattered
Beaten, cream-crackered. Harsh breathing.
Focus. There are feet at my face.
Fluffy pink slippers.
You fell she said.
Ouch. I said. You’re observant.
fucker she said.


Banana skin girl big cheesy grin.
All food and sustenance, mead and maul
Big blooming cheeks florid forlorn
Why ? she says.
You fell I said. That’s cheating.
Not the deal we dealt ourselves.

Addressed from on high
Stooden up, dressed down; 

dusted off, turned around.
Sick of being prepositioned,
Conjugated to death
I’m dragged like Peter’s shadow
restitched by Wendy,
flat on my black,
back home.
Where the heart isn’t
(Wasn’t/hasn’t been).
Tense. Nervous. Headache.
She triple locks the doors and windows
Plugs up the plugholes and bricks up the flue.
My father christmas days are over she tells me.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Black swan

Notes on the Black Swan by Nassim N. Taleb:
...Continued...