| Monday, November 22, 2004 |
 | Theoretically, this was meant to be a quiet weekend. As such, how could it begin but with horrible overindulgence both before and during birthday drinks at Milk and Honey? This tallies neatly with the latest wave of reports of apocalyptic drunkenness sweeping our streets, but I confess the only damage I was likely to do was to myself. It's something I need to remember - right now I don't have the firm, foursquare base to cut loose, and my body can't take the punishment I am used to meting out after weeks without meaningful rest.
In light of which, trying to make an early start in town on Saturday, a bold plan on the best weekend of my life, was an interesting decision. Huge breakfast in Balcans on Old Compton Street, a little recreational hat shopping, and then a late lunch with a friend who had been queuing for the grand opening of the Apple Store.
A brief aside. Why would anybody sleep outside this store on a vicious November night just to get into the store early? If it's for the discounted goodie bag, then I can just about understand it. The T-shirt, less so. But for the love of Heaven... it's Apple. They don't do special offers. They don't need to, because they have an army of frothy Apple pervs ready to pay through the nose for matching white plastic medical fetish computers. The iPod is a sign of individuality. 6 million have been sold. Think about it, lovers.
(The author reserves the right to get an iPod, an iMac, an iBook or an iOther at any moment. But for the right reasons. To express his individuality.)
So, anyway, the Apple Store, and then coffee, conviviality and general interaction. Still working on the balance between people and solitude. On Sunday, another birthday, this one in the less exclusive surroundings of a Turkish restaurant in Golders Green. It was after that that we finally tried the weasel coffee. Oh yes. weasel coffee, purchased for The Boy for his previous birthday.
As you may note from the blurb, the experience of having been eaten, covered with stomach acids and then regurgitated by weasels (or civet cats - jury still out) will, theoretically, make the coffee taste smoother and stronger. It should surprise you not at all that this is cock. It will make the coffee taste like it has been thrown up by weasels (or civet cats). This flavour is actually surprisingly similar to your expectation of it.
Anyway...the other thing about Golders Green is that, as the long miles of the Tube wind back towards the centre, claustrophobia sets in. Have you ever not been underground? Have you ever not been on the Northern Line? Diving out at Tottenham Court Road for a quick pint with , and was probably not the best of ideas, but at the time breaking the forward momentum seemed wise. I blame The Scar".
Speaking of expressing one's individuality by all means necessary, up to and including buying an iPod, these tiny Norfolk Goths, or tiny Norfolk spooky kids if you prefer, are just about the cutest thing in the world. Do you reckon they imagine that Diss is in fact, Dis, the city of Hell? Would they, in fact, be very far off?
Also rather wonderful is the apparent fact that, even when it comes to Goth names, East Anglia favours tight-knit communities. All the menfolk appear to be called Mercy. Shadow Mercy, Lucius Mercy, Lord
Mercy... them's good boys, the Mercies.
Of course, a little difference is a beautiful thing, as is the freedom to mix and match the various wonderful opportunities modern life provides for self-definition. However, just as with smoothies, some combinations just don't work. And very few combinations work if one of those combinations is batshit. Molatar Seth Pyrargent is that batshit.
Before we go on, let me make it quite clear that I have no animus against those who wish to dress as, pretend to be or believe themselves in fact to be animals. Even if you decide that you are in fact both a dragon and a werewolf, then, hey, that's a matter for your individual sense of aesthetics. On the other hand, you may want to think very, very hard before you attempt to reconcile this
life as a dragon/werewolf with life as a born-again Christian. In those terms, Molatar Seth Pyrargent might be said to be doing quite well. In those terms and those terms only.
Morrissey observed that he'd rather be lemurs than righteous or holy, but Molatar Seth Pyrargent has finally reconciled this polarity. It is only by being saved, by being righteous and holy, that one can become lemurs. It takes the power of the Lord to allow you to change shape to become the dragon/werewolf/lemurs you have always known you truly are, and it is therefore only through prayer that you can actually become a dragon. In fact, anyone who wishes to be transformed into their animal shape should be born again and baptised, as it represents their best chance of persuading God to change them into the animal of their choice.
This is an important issue for the boy Pyrargent, as he knows that God has put him on this Earth for a purpose, and he suspects he will not be able to achieve this purpose while he is a human being, as he wouldbe able to proselytise far more effectively as a thirty-foot reptile with the power to melt steel with his breath. This, it must be said, is pretty much inarguable. Oddly, however, barring his confidence that God will, at the moment where it fits His divine plan, turn him into a dragon, the boy Pyrargent's orthodoxy is almost entirely unsurprising, informed as it is by the usual rote-learning mix of inadequacy and block capitals, with a very slightly reptilian flavour.
So, on abortion:
If you've been raped, don't take your anger out on the baby. Thank God that you're still living after the attack. That baby didn't rape you - the rapist did. If you want revenge, pray to God for justice. You'll get results. That rapist will go to jail, where HE will be raped - and probably murdered. THAT should satisfy your need for vengeance!
***
On the fact of every wrong that Christians have ever done throughout history being the fault of Roman Catholics, not real Christians:
These anti-Christian people, who pretend to be much smarter than me by exhausting my patience with a criminal record of abuses by clergy and lots of clever four-letter words, are the stupid ones because they refuse to acknowledge the truth - that they are baleful sinners in desperate need of a Messiah.
***
A somewhat more dragony reason for hating role-playing games than the usual love of Satan engendered by it, with a healthy admixture of Baptiste-like self-regard, accompanied by a Baptiste-like absence of corroborating evidence:
I hate FRPG's because the people who play them irritate me. Most FRPG players are little snobs that won't let truly intelligent people like myself join their games. And if I do join their game, their characters snub mine because they are different. I get my character killed off because I made the mistake of looking different. That's why I accuse FRPG's of teaching racism.
Gnoll hate crimes, as you may be aware, have been sharply on the increase since the Third Edition rules came out.
***
The clincher, however, must be:
I hate magick. Its not only because I'm a Christian and am required to spurn the occult. I've had my own experiences with satan's enigmatic power which have scarred me for life. I see satan performing
so many false miracles and gathering many people to him through his deceitful and unimpressive supernatural stunts. I must admit, I get jealous when I see all this astrology nonsense in the newspapers and on TV. I can't even enjoy being a dragon because of its occult connotations.
Apart from the fact that he appears to be getting Satan and David Blaine (gitwizard) mixed up, the final sentence of that paragraph just kind of… you know… does it for me. How often have you been annoyed by the way that people think that your being a dragon is in some way connected with magic? Really, people can be so wilful…
The boy's ambition is remarkable. In essence, he is using his website to pitch to God the idea of turning his human flesh into a dragon's. It's a bold move.
And, speaking both of bold moves and of transformation, did anyone else notice that Kraft is apparently planning a "sustainable" coffee line, presumably for those on a budget who want to save the planet
but don't care particularly about the people who live on it. The plan is to pay a premium, still significantly lower than the Fairtrade price, to farmers who satisfy a set of ethical criteria, as yet undefined. Incremental positive progress, or a nasty piece of water-muddying triangulation? You decide. If anyone needs me, I'll be a baby
tapir.
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