My best friend in high school died last Sunday. He flew a hang glider into a cliff.

This did not surprise me. If he died in a car accident or of a heart attack, that would. But hang gliding into a cliff didn’t.

He took a detour into fairy land and new age woo. Started calling me a “once born” for laughing at his crap.

None of that matters. He was a good natured imbecile that never harmed anyone as far as I am aware. His friends somehow located me to inform. I said I knew and passed on condolence.

I suspect if he wanted to choose a way to go, hang gliding into a cliff would be up there.

I have no animosity to you my friend, even though we haven’t spoken for decades, and my memories of you are mostly fond. Even when you were an utter dick.

Peace if there is anything left of you listening.

I stopped writing a few years ago. The assholes that wanted to shut me up crowed in victory. It was not “victory”. It was coincidence. Get over yourselves.

My old man got cancer, I became nurse. It was no ordinary cancer. Some shit in inner ear, only three recorded cases in Australia. God, being the asshole (s)he is, gave one of the other cases to my brothers’s father in law. A reverse lotto win.

This is the grave Chrys Stevenson and PZ Myers danced upon. Unlike them, I do not open source pity parties. Or Greta Christina proclaiming cancer, fund raising and going shoe shopping when it’s a false alarm. Nothing false here. The cunt is dying.

The cunt is also a cunt. I was never physically or sexually abused. What I got was worse – a vacuum. That sucked all of my childhood into a void. My interests were “worthless”, the books and comics I collected with my paltry pocket money were burned as “wrong”. Every interest I had was “shit”. Psychologically, it was Auschwitz-Birkenau. Of course pea brains cannot appreciate that.

Now I sit here and inject protein into his stomach via a feeding tube. He clings to life like a junkie. I wonder why. This is the kind of reality above assholes flee from.

This in a nutshell is why I am what I am. I don’t “hate”. I live reality. And want to tear apart those that don’t.

Fuck you all.


The original dog

Several months ago on the slymepit – in a rare lull between rape jokes, posting pornographic photoshops of Ophelia Benson and plotting patriarchal domination of atheism – Rocko2466 presented an uncharacteristically serious question:

Hey slymepitters

I gots a question. If you had to write a book your kid for when s/he’s say 20 – 25, what topics would you include?

Atheism and ethics are two obvious ones, but any ideas (even if they’re within those two broad categories) would be appreciated.

This got me thinking. I would not to seek to impart knowledge per se – that would be tedious and not really special. Knowledge is what any kid with curiosity and motivation will find for themselves. I would instead try to seed habits to cultivate – method and attitude for intellectual integrity; a framework to train yourself to apply to all information you may transmit to others and, more importantly, to apply to all information you apprehend. To instill a mindset that tries to avoid the pitfalls of deception of the self and dishonest manipulation of others. My response to Rocko is reproduced below, with minor corrections. (more…)


The anti-baboon

I left a Cynic boot print on my cab driver last night. He was bemoaning the obligatory niceness of the season, the strangers that give their good wishes.

I told him to ask the next one why they aren’t nice all year ’round, not just now.

He brooded at the road for several minutes, chewing his lip.

Then said, “Y’know, I think I will”.

Perhaps I made a difference to his life, perhaps not. Don’t really care.