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So we
worked out the answer to Life the Universe and Everything. Is the child in
Congo genuinely powerless to avoid being cut to pieces by his Neighbour’s
Machete? Is it destiny cutting the child up with a Machete or is it some
heartless motherfucker choosing to do it. Does the fact that the child in Congo
has no choice in whether to be cut into pieces or not have fuck all to do with
whether I decide to act like a total bastard or not right now. Should
Schroedinger have been arrested for
locking his cat in a box in the first place and that have been the end of the
discussion. What would you do if you had the choice between sucking your wifes
eyes out and eating them or cutting your toes of with a Stanley knife. No sorry
I meant to ask if you had the choice between throwing ten live kittens against
a wall or grating mice on a cheese grater. And the answer to life the universe
and everything is…. Sometimes you get a choice and sometimes you don’t. Take
this example; the former Turner prize winner phones you up and says he is
interested in your show and wants to review it. He then spends over an hour
there but claims the exhibition is utterly boring, but writes a 1000 word
article inspired by it mentioning all the themes that then come up and acting
as if you were a vegetable that had absolutely no awareness that exactly these
themes of tastelessness and ennui are inherent in the theme itself. Is there
some other moderator of truth beyond this to whom one might turn? God? who says
well my dick is considerably longer than yours, so what the fuck’s left to talk
about. The Law? who says I’ll dress in women’s clothing and make you promise to
tell the truth whilst holding on to this old book in your right hand, like the
weirdest initiation rite of some sorority drinking club. Or your parents, who
tell you that eating your own excrement is a good way of dealing with every day
life. Science that says, hold on a minute I’m too busy feeding this monkey his
own genitalia whilst burning his testicles with my cigarette lighter to answer
that question right now. Then there’s politician that tell you democracy is the
choice between whether 102,367 or 100,514 people of a different cultural
background should have their limbs blown off to varying degrees. Journalists
claim that there might be any point in still writing about any of this insanity
as if they were in some way above it all, fat ladies go kerplum kerplum kerplum
and farmers go Potato, potato, potato. There was this bit where Tommesina
tittlemouse chased bibbity babitty bumble out of her tunnel with a broom and
one had the thought for a vague moment that there might be some inherent sense
of rightness and order in the world. But then the question came,”Why is that
mouse dressed up like a cleaning lady, and why the fuck is she sweeping a soil
floor with a broom?” And on and on and on went the children and on and on and
on went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and
on went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and on
went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and on
went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and on
went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and on
went the children and on and on and on went the children and on and on and on
went the children and on and on and on went the children. I’m not a
motherfucker I’m a motherfuckers son and I’m only fucking mothers till the
mother fucker comes. YOUR MOM. She’s the worst fuck I ever had, pussy like a
bucket. How should we communicate? We can send forty six quadrillion binary
signals a second through one optical switch and the end result is a child being
eaten by his own mother. What is left to say? Two children being eaten by four mothers?
The square root of sixteen children being eaten by forty eight mothers to the
power of six recurring? Excrement! Looks like shit, smells like shit, tastes
like shit. Is shit. Shit is that really shit? Shit, that’s shit shit I just
shit, tastes shit, but shit shit doesn’t taste that shit afterall.
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