THE CUNNING FENNEC FOX: Southeast Asian Planes, Humanity Once Again, Primate DNA, Briefly, and the Cunning Fennec Fox

21 July 2014

0722 hrs

Good Morning, Faithful and Patient Reader-

I am running low on fumes, having not slept well, erm, EVER, but even less well than how I slept Friday night when my woman spent the night in my arms, curled up against me in that most intimate of intimacies:

The Spoon Position. Y’all know what I mean, right? I slept a full five hours that night, the waking time just lying there watching her sleep and stroking her face, her arm, her legs and well, the rest . . . King Morpheus is kind to those who are content and at an easy peace.

So forgive me my rangents and non-sequiturs. I am so very sleep deprived and feel as if my cranium is filled with over-cooked barley . . .

I imagine that most of you have seen the other post I posted early this morning? Just more photographs I put on CFF. The first one

Is called, “bird and tree”

The second is, “envy”

The third: “irish maple sunrise”

Number four is “dendrite cerebri”

The fifth: “sailors take warning”

Six is: “kissing in the park”

Seven is entitled: “what hath iron wrought vi”

Eight, “what hath iron wrought iv”

Nine: “what hath iron wrought i”

Ten- “something is afoot”

Eleven: “you make me happy . . . when skies are grey” (you may recognize that line from an old song which, if you listen carefully to the lyrics, is actually quite sad).

And last but not least, Number Twelve: “kissing in the park ii”

Tell me what you think of these recent pics, Patient Reader. I’m interested in what you have to say. I am interested in your opinion.

I see Malaysian Air lost another

plane . . . man, that’s a big run on some shitty luck! Then we see how the Russians, or pro-Russian forces handled the whole affair thus far:

BBC World Service

Tangent Alert:

I find it interesting how the country from which the Dutch hail is called Holland or The Netherlands, and Dutch appears nowhere in the name . . .

Joep Lange

A giant in his field . . .

Now, Patient Reader, doesn’t

that just fucking figure?

Doesn't this just fucking SUCK?

See? It’s shit

like this about which I rant, as you all

well know. The strife and violence for

which humans have a propensity, an

innate and unavoidable trait to kill,

bound in our fragile DNA.

Surely throughout our evolution there has

been a genetic mutation that indicated

passivity and, well, Peace as a trait of

our species, but how the fuck was

such a trait to survive long enough to

perpetuate; to be passed down to the

next generation and subsequent

generations? Those with this innate

ability or even distaste for killing were

obviously killed themselves. Perhaps

this happened many times in primate

evolution, or maybe even was not

limited to primates only . . .

But we’ll never fucking know,

will we? I find it apropos that among the dead was this research scientist that was part of an international team that was trying to improve the State of Man; trying to save lives and who surely must have found the act of murder abhorrent.

Btw, The rest of the passengers

are listed on the manifest which has

been published, again on the BBC

website, as well as many of their

stories. I myself don’t subscribe to that

maudlin bullshit; I can surmise what it

is that is said about these people.

By the way, there were five more AIDS researchers aboard that flight

So what are we to do about all of this, Patient Reader? Shouldn’t we just all hang up and leave it to the leftovers to weed themselves out? Last man or woman can be, appropriately (since it is how we began 4 million years ago), Lion Shit.

Am I not the Bodhisattva of Compassion? Should I not feel for humanity and struggle away from the beauty and peace I sense at the end of my fruitless search for Nirvana (the state of enlightenment, not the increasingly irrelevant 90’s grunge band. . .)?

Should I not eschew this enlightenment for myself and feel a sense of duty to alleviate the suffering of others by assisting them on their path to Nirvana? To, through compassion, tease apart the intertwined fibers of terrible desire and suffering?

Am I not the Bodhisattva of Wisdom? Should I not, through knowledge of the coldness and hardness of the world and its denizens, assist others in their own navigation through the straits between the Scylla and the Charybdis?

Should I not do these things instead of hoping for the Earth to reset herself, to soft boot itself and hiccup or shrug us off the surface, we terrible creatures that do nothing but destroy and kill and maim? Should I not ever give up on Humanity, and the possibility we will fix whatever ails us and find a utopia, our very own Shangri-La in which we will be eater of milk and honey and lotus?