Thomas Heise took this picture and I censored it:
Near the end of one of my favorite movies, The Master (2012), Peggy Dodd says to Freddie Quell: “You just can’t take this life straight, can you?” …I don’t see how anyone can take this life straight. To make sure that I had the correct spellings for those characters’ names, I visited Wikipedia (which is always right, all the time, guaranteed or your money back), and I noticed that Quell was described as “a sex-obsessed alcoholic.” That phrase has a lot more letters than the simple word “human.” Therefore I conclude that the people who write articles on Wikipedia are neither attempting to compose telegrams nor tweets. (In 2015, the year when I am writing, the most popular microblogging network has nicknamed its updates “tweets” because humans think of bird chirps as limited to 140 characters.)
Last night, I heard a soldier recounting his experiences as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. He said that he was tortured because he refused to sign a document condemning the USA’s actions. Here is one of many thoughts that this information triggered in my mind: I cannot understand why people hold signatures as important. It seems to me that a signature is something that living people revere only because dead people once revered it. But I’m probably wrong about that.
I hate semen: it contains too many spermatozoa. And, for the same reason, I dislike maple trees. Or rather their seeds. I am disgusted by the idea of superfluity. Quintillions of nutlets for the production of a single new tree. It’s like the lunch line in middle school: callous mobs rushing towards a meal, so that they may trample each other to eat again on the morrow. The stampede of existence. I’m writing short sentences. I hate short sentences. They’re easy to digest. They cater to the part of us that tweets.
My suspicion is that the best sperm have never been born.