Wednesday, December 26, 2012

I Am Siamese If You Don't Please

 
Oh, god, reminiscence.  全然見逃しちゃ駄目.  This is, however, what the holidays are for, of course.  I do not turn to the heavens for a charting of my stars so that I may understand my place in the universe.  Nothing so gauche.  Rather, I, like my Viking ancestors, recount tales of times passed, from childhoods best forgotten.

I look to the fact that now I am the proud, somewhat lackadaisackal owner of a Siamese cat.  She is utterly infatuated with me, and refuses to withdraw her claws.  I do my best to spoil her, as city "friends" are wont to do with their charges -- she has catnip infused balls, the little mouse-at-the-end-of-the-rubber-string-tied-to-a-stick toy (which occupies five minutes every day), a cruel-looking wire brush she adores to the point of sexual frisson, Taste of the Wild (kibble and soft food), an ever-clean shithouse -- but I am hopeless.  She cannot bear to let me go every morning, but I find myself emotionally rather indifferent to her.  She's more like a dog on me than a cat.

Times were once different.  In Richmond, California, on the corner of 38th and Roosevelt, there stood a tiny, canary-yellow bungalow.  Behind that bungalow lay a square of patio.  In the corner of that patio, the one between the sliding glass door of the kitchen and the back garage door, I huddled frantic and panicked, screaming and in pain, all of three years old.  I was the prey of rapacious Bat-Cat, a fiend from hell with blue eyes, grey nose and paws and tail, and a raging jealousy of the attention lavished upon me by my mother.  Bat-Cat, who would regularly steal food from my father's plate and hang upside down on the screen outside while my dad fried chicken.  Bat-Cat, who once gave my mother a black eye she was too embarrassed to say wasn't given by my father.

You would think Bat-Cat would have secured me as highly phobic of felines.  Rather, I've had cordial and warm-hearted relationships with all the cats and dogs in my life, save for one or two meth-addict-owned Pomeranians.  To the point where, I am now the semi-reluctant ward of my own Siamese cat, an emotionally needy, abusive twat who can count Bat-Cat as her proud forbear.

Tell me again how this world is supposed to make sense.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Some Thoughts on Torture

It might be consolation to a torture victim if his treatment displayed creativity or artistry.  The subject, though excruciated, can nevertheless cultivate an aesthetic appreciation of his travails.

How flattering, also, that so much attention and devotion are lavished on one.  One feels many things when tortured; neglect is rarely one of them.

That is the sweetest consummation of the ritualized, stylized yet visceral, relationship between torturer and tortured (when it's ideal):  not bloody, painful demise of the victim, but a window opened to truly knowing one's torturer on a personal level.  One keeps the memory of such a soul-touching encounter for the rest of one's life.  Torturers who think they maintain anonymity, detachment or distance do not know what they reveal of themselves when they deliberately cause pain to another who does not want it.  They'd be surprised to find what their subject has gleaned about their innermost selves from the work done.

One is never as intimate even with one's family, friends or lovers.

How To Be Evil: A Survival Guide

You're well-liked, love most everybody you meet, and have no enemies.  Animals and children adore you.  You haven't been in a fight since grade school.  Among your friends are those who would willingly take a bullet for you -- if you would allow them.  Doing the right thing has always been easiest, and you are hardest on yourself.

It's time to face facts:  you're a rare kind of person -- a good one.  People love having you around, but you and they are under no illusions:  this world is run by and populated with evil, shitty, scum-sucking louts.  It's a wonder you've lasted this long.  Your chances of reaching old age are small indeed.

The following is a brief list of tips on how to be evil.  Being evil can give you a real shot at longevity, and if you're lucky, wealth even:

  • Stop blaming yourself, start blaming the world.
  • Take pleasure in another's pain.
  • Lie your ass off.
  • Prejudice saves time.
  • Be the spoiled brat whose ass even non-confrontational you would have kicked in elementary school.
  • Show a sense of entitlement and learn to disrespect others.
  • Reward yourself for acting cruelly or angrily.
  • Hypocrisy is not the enemy.
  • Give avarice and jealousy a try.
  • Learn and appreciate how to hate.
  • Hurt someone's feelings.
  • Tell people what do do -- dominate and control.
  • Manipulate people using their basest instincts.
  • Treat people horribly and get them to do what you want.
  • Kindness is weakness, and weakness is contemptible.
  • Stop valuing anyone who lacks physical beauty, money, or power.
  • Transition from good conduct to superior attitude.
  • Be egotistical.
  • Strangle your conscience.
  • Be snide and mean.
  • Stupidity is the buttercream frosting on the cake that is evil.
  • Stop laughing at yourself -- laugh at someone else!
  • Cultivate boredom and dissatisfaction.
  • Seethe with resentment.
Be a monster!  Evil's never been so easy!