Down the toilet

It’s just absolutely fucking marvellous.

In the wake of Obama’s decision on abortion I stumble across some website with more than 1,000 comments on the issue. Some of them [comments] so ridiculous I fear for mankind.

First of all – and, dear men, I know this is harsh – it’s a woman’s issue whether to bring a child into this world or not. I am livid reading so much self righteous shite as I have just done for the last half hour. Let’s be clear about two things: The aborted child will not know what he/she is missing; the woman aborting will have to live with her conscience all her life. Odd, isn’t it, that men never ever talk about one of their children having been aborted? And that’s good. The as yet unconscious does not care whether it lives or not. It doesn’t exist.

Nature aborts at the rate of knots -  Indiscriminately, at random, often with good reason. In fact, should do it more often.

Oddly, and if anyone can explain this to me, please do: Why do some anti-abortionists bring themselves to condone abortion of a child conceived by rape? Surely, going by your logic the poor mite couldn’t give a shit how it was conceived, as long as it’s borne?

I am sick and tired of the whole debate. Humans kill each other in many sanctioned ways. To mention one, war; but then I suppose that’s ok, isn’t it? Ideals, ideologies, religions to be defended – oh so glorious, oh so noble whilst making canon fodder out of real people – those who were borne and nurtured.

U

In short

KBO – Keep buggering on (what on earth was Churchill thinking of when coining the acronym). Or as, no doubt, my dear sweet professor would say “keep blogging on”. If only he would.

It is a bugger to be emotionally taken by a gay guy. I myself don’t care; let’s bend any which way.

Still, truth be told: If I were a man I might have the edge. Beloved old friend and alpha male of mine has no time for me on this one. Neither do my son, my father, my brother. That’s ok guys, there are more ways than one to draw a straight line across a wonderful friendship.

On other matters, and I have been told that this is not as funny as I think it is: I have learnt that members of my wider family think me quite mad and at least one wants me certified (I don’t know whether they have yet voted for a guardian). Can’t wait till Felix is 18, of age as it were, and see to my welfare, legally.

I am desperate, so very desperate. In more ways than one. Those are the wonders of the bland world of the internet: You stand in your wood, you shout – and then you wait: For an Echo.

Something, anything.

U

and then you delete.

Falling apart

Sweethearts and other foundlings, if you want a shallow glimpse into another’s happily desolate soul keep reading.

I like Oscar Wilde (particularly in the guise of Stephen Fry) but his frequent bon mots can be quite tiresome. Just now I came across something along the line that he doesn’t like principles but prefers prejudice any time. Well, Oscar, that’s just crap and plays on cheap alliteration. I don’t know what you had for breakfast – probably Weetabix with too little milk.

I am not exactly ANTI-marriage (though, truth be told, I am) so, naturally, in moments when the maso of my sado gets the better of me I imagine myself hitched to the various greats and little of literature, philosophy and history, sitting opposite them at breakfast, lunch and dinner. As torture, laughter, amusement and mirth go you cannot better either joy or pain over conversations had – or not.

And whilst, on good hair days and becoming blush to my cheek bones, I have been likened to the Pre-Raphaelites’ vision of  woman (think Rossetti) the expendable side of my personality is that benevolent sisterly nurse hiding in the wings. Give me a case (preferably nut) and salvation will be yours.  However, people I imagined sane now wish to cut my tongue and, as I have just found out, my sisters hate my guts. I wouldn’t go as far as to recommend never to trust anyone born in 1961 (a good friend of mine was on Christmas Eve) but they should come with a health warning nevertheless: First they bleed you dry, then let you hang and consequently deny all knowledge of their doing so. Let’s leave the gay guy out of the equation, I am gutted over vintage 1961 sister of mine.

Back to men: The great, good and lost. When I was little I took pity on Jesus Christ – till I learnt that he was well looked after by Magdalene. So, more of me left for the rest of you. Wilde’s pride, prejudice and principles: I live my life by principles – leaving little of my energy to pride and virtually none to prejudice.

To think that my second son was to be named Oscar.

U