THE ANGELUS 2

(WARNING STROBE LIGHTING EFFECTS)

 

The Angel of the Lord declared to scary!

THE YTIRALUGNIS

I'm kind of clever, kind of. I read about stuff that matters and I ponder it and comment about it, online usually as I find the interface of face to face a muddled and confusing place.

I'm currently worried about artificial intelligence and the impending Singularity. When it comes to artificial intelligence, the Singularity is the point when computers become more like humans only superior. It's quite concerning. Although, maybe, maybe, yeah maybe, I was thinking, we should be talking about things happening the other way around. We should be talking about the impending Ytiralugnis. That's what's really going to happen. The Ytiralugnis is the Singularity backwards, the point when humans become more like computers only inferior. When we all become the nodes of one great algorithmic consciousness. Led by the #s and validated by the 'likes'. 101001000011010001ing our nodey little heads off. All as one. Unified at last. A singular thing but in a perverse kind of reverse. All with opinions on opinions we are destined to have opinions on. Each of us will be a 'unique' series of takes on whatever is trending.

This is Lord Shiva as a search engine and us as anonymous voices emitting from the Cloud. We'll no longer be people but blogs and Twitter accounts and Facebook walls and apps and regular forum posters and viral uploads. We'll be multi-platform experiences. We'll all be part of one great family. Our surname will Dotcom. Our new family may be slightly dysfunctional, somewhat divided. The upper caste will be those with high hit counts. The lower caste the least hit. And newborns will be called noobs and the elderly will be sneeringly referred to as Commodore 64s. And when we die we'll be shipped off to a landfill in Ghana and stripped down for reusable parts and then incinerated on pyres by kids with emphysema, wearing homemade pollution filters, that never logged on in their lives.

The #Ytiralugnis – it's going to happen. It has happened. It's happening right now. Artificial Intelligence, it's making us kind of clever, kind of; reading about stuff that matters and pondering it and commenting about it online, finding the faceless interface a muddled and confusing place.

TRAGEDUNPHY

Angel of God,
my guardian dear,
to whom God's love commits me here,
ever this day,
be at my side
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.

Amen ...baby!

TRAGRIDY

MAD BASTARDS

Mad bastards. 
Loads of mad bastards. 
Heaps of mad bastards. 
Swathes of mad bastards.  
Hoards of fanatical mad bastards. 
A horrendous cloud of mad bastards.
Mad bastards travelling the world.
Mad bastards flowing across borders. 
Mad bastards roaring their heads off. 
Mad bastards with a hatred of women. 
Mad bastards with a love of rifles. 
Mad bastards barbecuing people alive. 
Mad bastards playing soccer with human heads. 
Mad bastards with smartphones. 
Mad bastards uploading mad shit. 
Mad bastards looking for 'hits'. 
Mad bastards looking for 'likes'. 
Mad bastards with Twitter accounts. 
#MadBastards. 
Mad bastards with names like Abu Mahd B'Ahstard. 
Mad bastards coming in handy. 
Mad bastards doing the dirty work. 
Mad bastards of realpolitik. 
Mad bastards that are with us. 
Mad bastards that are against us. 
Mad bastards turning on us. 
Frankenstein created mad bastards. 
Mad bastards in search of their master. 
Mad bastards hating their creator. 
Mad bastards - what are they thinking? 
Mad bastards - what are they going to do next? 
What should we do about all the mad bastards? 
Where would we be without the mad bastards? 
You've got to love mad bastards. 
If we didn't have mad bastards, we'd end up looking like mad bastards ourselves.

Mad bastards - taking the heat off us for the last thirty five years.

I JUST REST

I'm an explorer of inactivity. I delve deep into dormancy. Everyone else is obsessed with doing things and seeing things get done but I'm charting a sedentary ocean. Thanks to fugtheworld.blogspot.com, others can read about doing nothing and save themselves the bother of not bothering. It's a bit like reading about a mountaineering expedition but never embarking on one yourself.

Don't worry about me, sacrificing my goals is no sacrifice as I have no goals. I do not see the point in goals. Having a goal in life is not my goal in life. Somebody did once say that they thought I needed something to aim for but I aimed them for the door. Then I aimed myself for the bed and got back into it. I haven't changed the sheets since. I have my shopping delivered and I live on subsidies from academic bodies that are interested in the consequences of living an inconsequential life. Indeed, it should come as no surprise that the consequences of inconsequentiality are themselves inconsequential. That should have been obvious.

Some of those observing my shiftless existence have been inspired to embrace indolence themselves. One college professor spends his lectures napping and encourages his students to do the same. He considered writing a treatise on the formation of a new nation state for people who do nothing. He was going to propose that this state be called Inertia and not be a geographic territory but a state of mind, with citizens with rights – the right to do nothing. He didn't bother writing his treatise in the end because it would have required effort. Instead, he opted to lead by example and did nothing.

If your dream in life is to do nothing then you can easily make that dream come true. Sure, you'll eventually run out of financial means and be carried from your bed and placed on the street but you'll be moved to an institution where you'll be given shelter and fed. Rest assured, you will remain alive in your deathlike state and you'll be able to take comfort in the fact that you have achieved all of your ambitionless ambitions.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering what would become of us if we all did nothing and no one did anything to help those who had stopped doing anything because everyone was doing nothing, wouldn't we all end up dying destitute? Well perhaps but would that suffering be any worse than the suffering caused by the wars we wage and murders we commit when active? You see, lethargy is love and peace can only be achieved through the ultimate passivity - doing nothing.

Doing nothing with your time is better than wasting your time and wasting time is usually what people spend all their time doing. In fact, to do nothing with your time is to conquer time itself as it makes the concept of time obsolete. It doesn't matter what the time is when you do nothing all the time. The tyranny of temporality is overcome. You are there in bed, looking at the numbers on the digital display and pitying the pretense of punctuality. Ceasing all attempts to attempt anything is the only true way to 'beat the clock' and isn't beating the clock the ultimate goal of the deadline addicted denizens in your harried land of 'purpose'?

I rest my case. In fact, I just rest. 

MONKEYS DON'T HAVE WORDS

In a former life I was a monkey. I didn't have a name, just a scent. I used to drink water from leafs and pee anywhere I liked. I spent a great deal of time screeching and hopping up on other monkeys who didn't mind at all. I jumped from tree to tree and threw berries at predators, taunting them from the safety of high branches, just for the laugh.

Past life regression therapy has brought these memories back to me. The main thing I remember is an overriding sense of urgent delight and an overwhelming immersion in what they call Oceanic Feeling. I wasn't just in the jungle, I was the jungle and I was everything else in the jungle.

I eventually got old and fell out of a tree and into the jaws of a big cat, which was a nasty end but up to that point I'd had tremendous craic. Anyway, even though I was eaten by a big cat, I was the big cat. It's hard to explain. It was a feeling beyond words. Monkeys don't have words. They don't need them. They'd find them inadequate.

In another former life I was a cartographer of either geographic land or the human mind, I'm not sure which. All I really remember is a sense of discomfort. There was a kind of fear there: of boundless spaces, of uncharted realms, of unlabelled and uncategorised things. I didn't have this fear as a child but as I grew older, and read stories of wild places, wild animals and wild people, I came to understand that categorisation was necessary. I too was categorised and this gave me a robust sense of what they call Ontological Security and this Ontological Security provided me with a buffer which I used to protect myself from the sheer randomness of what they call 'outrageous fortune'.

I eventually got old and developed dementia. I started drinking water from leafs and peeing anywhere I liked. I spent a great deal of time screeching and hopping up on people who took offence and contacted the authorities. I jumped from building to building and threw bottles at the police, taunting them from the safety of high rooftops, just for the laugh.

I eventually fell from the top of a multi-storey car park and dashed my brains on the pavement below and was taken to a morgue where a little label was attached to my toe, with a little number on it, and I was put into a drawer that had another number on it and then I was put into box that had my name on it and then I was buried under the ground in a plot in a cemetery that had a saint's name on it and then I could have sworn that I felt a nameless monkey walk right over my grave and I think it took a pee.

THE LAST SUN RAY

There is only one ray of sunlight left that shines on the Earth. The ray has a limited diameter of about three feet. It's like a spotlight. People can see the beam approaching for days and days. The ray is careful to shine upon every inch of the planet's surface, which takes a very long time but is at least fair. Uncomplaining but eager, people await the ray's arrival. When it reaches them they hold up their faces and enjoy the moment because it doesn't last long. It's lovely. One woman said it was as if God had run his fingers through her hair. Sadly, some of us are not lucky enough to have this experience: those who are born just as the ray leaves their vicinity and will be dead by the time it returns. These people content themselves with the certainty that the ray will one day glide over their graves.

Now that it is a rare and precious thing, everyone appreciates the light from the sun and talks about it a great deal. They talk about sunlight as much as they used talk about celebrities and sporting events. They watch the sun ray's movements on television. There is a special channel devoted to the sun ray. It's called The Sun Ray Channel. You have to pay a subscription to get the channel and it's quite expensive. No one else is allowed to record or broadcast the sun ray as it moves about. Full transmission rights have been secured. Those who can't afford to pay the subscription for The Sun Ray Channel usually watch illegal streams of the sun ray online, which is almost as good but for a dip in picture quality and occasional lagging.

The practise of sun hogging (following the beam as it travels and walking in its light) is no more. It was frowned upon. The sight of multitudes of people shoving each other so as to grab a moment in the warm glow seemed undignified to those watching and was tiring for those participating. It also left people dreading the sun ray's arrival as it carried with it a stampede of assholes that would maraud across their property and deny them their moment. So, the activity came to an end and those who indulged in it were stigmatised and left pariahs. No one admits to their former sun hogging days.

People still have tans but they're an unnatural hue, got from lying beneath the sun simulacrum in the Sun Ray theme park. The simulacrum is great big cooker ring of a thing that emits a crackling buzz. The discerning avoid it and remain pale. Spending time basking in the simulacrum saddens them as it only reminds them of what they've lost.

The habits of animals have changed a lot since the sun went away. Animals have become fleeting silent things, silhouettes you might glimpse darting before headlights. Nocturnal species remained largely unperturbed by the disappearance of daytime and actually thrived. Being able to swoop down and catch rodents for a full twenty four hours has caused owls to become huge. I saw one that had to be nine foot long with its wings extended. It suddenly soared down before me, silently from out of the darkness. It scooped up my Jack Russell, Jarlath, and carried him away. I listened as the yapping grew distant. I had nightmares for at least a week. Maybe two weeks.

There's a lot of bats around too. They behave like robins.

The flowers we once knew are all dead and sorely missed but the luminescent weeds that replaced them have a spectral beauty of their own. The albinoid chlorophyll smells odd though. It's hard to describe the smell really. It's a subtle smell. It's a new smell. A never smelled before smell. I suppose the only way you could describe it would be to say that it is a kind of neutral smell or that it smells like a product, a type of product that is not known for its aroma. It's not a nice smell and it's not a bad smell but it is a smell.

The moon is gone too of course. It hasn't the strength to breach the cloud. People recall it in all sorts of ways: a great shining saucer, a mid-month eucharistic wafer glowing in the night. The stars are remembered too as scattered diamonds and so on. People watch old footage of the moon and recreate it with computer generated effects. There are festivals that commemorate the moon where children make moon kites out of paper and shine torches on them as they fly them in the night sky. It's always night now. Well, there's a kind of day when the cloud changes from pitch black to a darkened ash colour but no one calls that 'day'. Now there is just night and people say things like 'what night is it?' and talk about the 'nights of the week' – Monight, Tuesnight, Wednesnight, Thursnight, ...you get the idea.

The worst consequence of this sunless world is our failing health. The lack of vitamin D the sun used provide has made everyone poorly. We no longer live as long as we once did. Over the years, there are sporadic rumours of the sun's imminent return. Many people are desperate to believe as much. Various meteorologists and the like bring out best selling books predicting the dispersal of the cloud due to one thing or the other. We even make movies about it, it's become a genre. Most people pay no heed and know it's all just fantasy but others get very excited and are then disappointed. The sensible talk is about how the sun's absence came to be. No one really knows why the cloud coalesced and left us with only a single narrow beam of pure sunlight. There are fantastical folk tales about why the sun left us but science is at a loss. One philosopher proposed that it may be the Universe's way of asking us to go away. 'Why would the Universe want us to go away?', this philosopher was once asked. 'Maybe it got tired of being ignored', the philosopher answered. Maybe he's right or maybe the folktales are closer to the truth, that the sun drew a curtain over us because it was ashamed.

A KIND OF SECRET

I don't know what all the fuss is about really. It's just being used as another stick to beat the church with. I mean, it was a different time. We were all stuffing dead babies into septic tanks back then. Don't you remember? We were. I was almost stuffed into a septic tank myself when I got a dose of whooping cough. 'Ah sure, your man's had it', said my own mother as she carried me off down the end of the garden toward the tank.

Here's how I see it, the average amount of dead babies stuffed into the septic tank in Saint Mary's Mother and Baby Home was one every two weeks. Sure, a lot more babies than that would have been dying in the nation at the time. So, compared to the national infant mortality rate, Saint Mary's was doing a pretty good job. I mean, I remember what it was like back then (or at least my imagination remembers what it was like back then – the rest of me wasn't born) and you'd be finding dead babies everywhere. They'd be on the side of the road and falling out of cupboards and all over the place. It was like the last bit in one of those serial killer films where the girl is running about the house finding the corpses of her dead friends. And it wasn't just Ireland. It was like that all over the world. You don't see it when you watch the old movies because all the baby corpses were swept off the film sets. The place was awash with dead babies. As well as that, I read that one of the babies found in the septic tank was nine. Well now, nine isn't even a baby. Nine is a child. An older child. In fact, back then, nine would have been a ripe old age. The average life expectancy back then would have been around eight. People didn't live as long you see, what with all the whooping cough and wild animals roaming about in people's gardens and jumping out of hedges and devouring them. We've zoos and all kinds of inoculations and medicines now but back then the planet was death trap.

Even my own parents, who were alive at the time, were dead and so were their friends and cousins and all that. Kids didn't mind being dead back then. It wasn't like now, with the sense of entitlement and Stephen Hawking and all that. Back then you'd be dead and in a septic tank but that would be expected. It was a right of passage. You won't hear that from the pro-bort crowd but it's historical fact. Or at least a sort of fact. We can't be sure because no one was actually alive back then. They were all dead and stuffed into septic tanks so there's no point talking about it. It's the past. Be quiet about it now. Shut up about it. I said Shut Up! The whole nation, every man, woman and child was deceased and squeezed into a septic tank back then but they didn't let that hold them back. Unlike the moaners these days, they just dusted themselves down and got on with it and so should you. Take a look at Bill Cullen. He died in 1957. You don't see him complaining. He just got on with it and look at what he made of himself. Get on with it yourself now. Off you go. Go on, there's nothing more to be said about all this. Just be glad that we're not all dead babies today. Dead and stuffed into a septic tank. Seven hundred and ninety odd of us. One on top of the other. After dying in mysterious circumstances. Behind closed doors. Behind high walls. And then hidden down a quiet lane. In the shadow of trees. Silent. A kind of secret. A horror.