Wednesday Morning

I hate it when I am dead tired in the morning, feeling like I should be turning in to bed for the night. Suffice it to say that the cats were not pleased about being kept in the house overnight. They duly punished me for it. Love is hard.

Coco

Making a grab for Coco, "I got you! I got you in the cat-scooper. It's alright. I'm still pretty fast."

Conspiracy Against the Human Race

Did primitive man - man before the Internet, before radio, before the wheel - ever truly ponder the meaning of life? Maybe not. Maybe he was more occupied in finding his next meal, a safe place to sleep, or his next woman. Maybe the meaning of life is a question that was born in luxury and comfort. Maybe it is a question better left unasked, representing an epistemological greed that is not truly helpful or even very entertaining.

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Hence, more human than any other human longing is the pursuance of a total view of Man’s function - or malfunction - in the Universe, his possible place and importance in the widest conceivable cosmic scheme. In other words it is the attempt to answer, or at least articulate whatever questions are entailed in the dying groan of ontological despair: What is it all about? This may well prove biologically harmful or even fatal to Man. Intellectual honesty and Man’s high spiritual demands for order and meaning may drive man to the deepest antipathy to life and necessitate, as one existentialist chooses to express it, “A no to this wild, banal, grotesque and loathsome carnival in the world’s graveyard.”

-- Herman Tonnesen, “Happiness Is for the Pigs: Philosophy versus Psychotherapy” in Journal of Existentialism, 1967

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[Source: Thomas Ligotti, “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race”]

Bed

It's scarcely 7:30, and I am already ready for bed. I wouldn't necessarily fall asleep right away, but I find myself growing fond of just lying in bed and tossing and turning and just playing dead.