Earlier today, I attempted to call my phone company in order to sort out an upgrade, and, when I was inevitably put on hold, I found that, in lieu of the typical polyphonic elevator music, I was to be subjected to what I can only describe as a bizarre clacking reminiscent of the old Internet dial up tone. As I was too lazy to endure the simply arduous torture of holding my phone up to the side of my face, I decided to plug it into my earphones, meaning that I could hear nothing but the robotic white noise reverberating through my skull.
Religion has been a primary catalyst of war, genocide, murder, rape, destruction, oppression, segregation, and a million other overlapping offences during its reign over the human race; however, all of these I can forgive of religion, for one simple reason: It’s human nature, we’d do it anyway. The four horsemen of the apocalypse aren’t fictitious, they’re simply the personification of four common atrocities that have ravaged humanity since its inception two hundred thousands years ago. No, I can forgive religion of all these monstrous offences, because it’s just the convenient excuse. If we didn’t have religion, we’d inevitably think of some other scapegoat in our efforts to maim and kill and conquer one another.
However, there is one thing that I can never and will never forgive religion for (and note that I’m talking about the entirety of fundamentalist religion as a whole here; I’m not criticising any particular pious individual), and that is the promotion of an under-appreciation of the world around us; because to try and deny, forbid and oppress an understanding of the process of natural selection and evolution is throwing a tarp over the greatest masterpiece ever conceived. Continue reading
Okay, let’s break this down a little. It’s mostly a blur of endlessly discussing which body of water, be it pool, beach, other pool, or other beach, to lie beside; but I shall try to jot down a loose itinerary of my two weeks in St Lucia. One thing that you can take as a given on each and every day is that several Rastafarians would demand that we fist bump them (and then offer us drugs), and several over-enthusiastic bartenders would satiate us with an inexhaustible supply of rum punches that were slightly stronger than pure gasoline. The endless photos will be around soon (mostly of topless people who probably shouldn’t be topless), but until then, here’s the gist of what we got up to.
Poor little apostrophe. He knows his place, and more importantly, he knows when he’s not in it. Some, or all, will say that it isn’t really too important, and that as long as you get the gist of what is meant, then the grammatical semantics of the written word can probably fall by the wayside. However, if the boat of proper grammar truly is sinking, then I would rather let the weight of a million neglected semi-colons and brackets pull me down to the dreary depths of the abyss, than abandon ship and take refuge upon the misplaced and miserable apostrophe that hangs lifeless between the O and the S in the word: photo’s, or cling to safety upon the second f in the word of.
Sex, like money, colours your pursuit of happiness from the moment it enters your life. You can alway have more money for better possessions, and you can always have more sex with ‘better‘ partners. It leaves us incapable of true fulfilment, a never ending cycle of the greener grass mentality. It becomes how we define ourselves; all that we do being to impress, and better ourselves in the eyes of others.