I detest euphemisms
when people use them in
earnest,
and not in fun to satirise
them.
They are to words
what hypocrites are to people.
If words denoting body parts
and body functions
offend somebody, they can go
and do without their bodies.
Those who insist that words for
body parts and body functions
must be said in French or Latin
rather than in Anglo-Saxon
English
can move to France or ancient Rome
and go have coitus with
themselves,
the self-righteous faecal
objects.
Those who insist on keying in
f**k and sh#*t,
as if this will make whatever
crap
those who obey this witlessly
hypocritical convention write
more acceptable to ‘family’
than fuck and shit,
when everybody in everybody’s
family knows
what those fucking euphemistic
non-letters stand for,
can just jam it up their
odiously hypocritical
derrieres, and coitus off.
Calendars
and Seasons
One of the more mindlessly arrogant aspects
of various cultures
is this ridiculous bullshit notion
that natural phenomena
should or actually do
follow the dictates
of artificial human
constructs.
In particular the assertion
that the seasons change
– Click! –
on the first day of each of four calendar months
irritates the hell out of
me.
First of all, seasons change gradually,
so setting any arbitrary date
when one becomes another
is dicey, to say the least,
but to make it a date
set by an arbitrary cultural artefact
like the calendar,
rather than,
if we need a date for some particular reason,
the equinoxes and solstices,
is hideously smug and
stupid.
Of course, none of this applies
in the oceanic tropics,
which have only two seasons
–
rainy and dry –
or in places with climates
governed by the monsoon.
When the seasons change there
is only too obvious.
Popping Off
I think it takes a certain sort
of person
to make confident assertions
expressing the possession of
extravagant expertise
in regard to topics
about which they clearly know
fuck-all.
I could speculate,
employing superficially obvious
pop-psychology pseudo-insights
– the sort of which such people themselves
appear to be inordinately fond –
about why they do this,
but because I really don’t actually know,
I’d rather not.
Trendy
Verbiage
I decided when I was about nineteen
that keeping up with the latest trends in slang
was a lame thing to do,
so I never burbled crap like groovy
back then,
I’m glad to report,
and I don’t key
crap like LOL onto the screen now, either.
Crowns
of Creation?
They fluff themselves up, these egotists,
these huff-and-puff practitioners,
these suit-wearing, golf-playing, thieving executives,
these bigots,
these abusers of the weak,
these poseurs,
these tailgaters,
these mean-spirited right-wingers,
these anti-intellectuals,
these taggers,
these environmental vandals,
these lying politicians,
these torturers of animals –
whether for fun, for profit, or both,
these sly and aggressive marketers,
these pseudoscientific scammers,
these sweatshop operators –
and that’s you if you have an iPhone or an iPad,
these religious zealots
who believe that they’re the centres
of the whole bloody universe
and that every galaxy and mote of dust
is there because of them –
y’know: these egotists.
And still the sight of slender female legs
turns my mind pathetically
to thoughts of procreative activity,
despite my age.
Day’s Park Witlings
Clambering alongside
the narrowing river
on yet one more sunny,
blue-dome morning
in the midst of a drought
causing hardship for many
tens of thousands of people,
one person after another
whom I encountered,
as shallow as the river’d
become along its edge,
seemed compelled to inform me
that it was another beautiful day.
I can’t stand it.
Victims
Most people are victims:
victims of sociopaths in suits,
victims of narcissists in
makeup,
victims of insanely
empathy-free
testosterone addicts in
camouflage fatigues,
victims of bullies who grew up
too fast with empty souls,
victims of egotists with
frustrated ambitions,
victims of jealous siblings,
victims of control-obsessed
parents,
victims of unctuous and
insecure bureaucrats,
victims of systems beyond
their, or anyone’s, control.
But almost no victims admit
this.
Being a victim carries a
stigma, y’see.
Victims are under enormous
social pressure
to insist that that’s what
we’re not,
even when we know it’s what we
are.
Victims are inferior people,
y’see,
whingers without the inner
strength to rise above it.
Victims merit the shame of pity
at best,
more commonly the censure of
contempt
or worse;
survivors and battlers deserve
admiration,
especially if they dust
themselves off
and get on with it,
surviving and battling,
even though survivors and
battlers are usually victims too,
and carry the scars and damage
of their victimisation
uncomplainingly – as the
victimisers prefer it –
throughout their lives
to the end.
Teasing
Teasing, in the sense of endeavouring
to vex or annoy another person,
or to distress someone
with unjustified and unprovoked mockery and ridicule
just for the sport of it
is a hideously vile and nasty practice.
To explain with innocent eyes
that it’s just some good-humoured,
or friendly, or light-hearted teasing
is almost as hideous,
as only the teaser ever sees
the humour, feels the friendliness,
or finds light-hearted enjoyment in it –
unless, of course, the target enjoys
being vexed, annoyed, distressed,
and unjustifiably and unprovokedly mocked and ridiculed –
but people who tease usually don’t choose such people
as their victims.
Since teasing is in reality a technique of abuse,
and the only ones involved who enjoy it
are those engaging in it,
calling it just good, clean fun
is disingenuous, self-delusional, or both,
which means that the act of teasing
and the self-justifications of those who enjoy doing it,
are cynically malicious, destructively sick, or both.
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