Wednesday, December 01, 2004


I write for no great purpose.

I am a student of biology. And biology is life. And life is fucking and death.

So why fool myself?

Keenly aware of the fact that I am an observer, like Jane Goodall with her chimpanzees, I sit in the humid stillness of the old jungle and take minute notes on who presents an estrus-inflamed rear to who, who sat and for how many minutes picking fleas off who.

Aching from long hours crouched in observation I wonder why our ancestors, coming up to my hip bone with brains the size of golf balls, decided to leave the warm moisture of the fertile womb. Move out to the savannah; realign our bodies for standing upright: hip, shoulder, vagina all rotated into their bipedal position.

A few million years of evolution later and fuck if I know where the time went.

But I do know it would be a mistake to think that I can brachiate.

Still, these quiet gloaming hours spent as ever the naturalist has leeched a little of the civilization out of me. My bite has venom because there is no other way to survive in the world if you are pink and soft and tender. Because when you try and restrain yourself with civility and small talk you might forget why you’re supposed to hate someone. Because that is Nature’s way of telling you to avoid them, least it costs you.

The same way shit smells so you know you shouldn’t eat it.

So I watch Australopithecus sapiens and his devolution.
And I don’t ignore him because he serves as warning of my own devolution.

Like the girls and the boys I see when spring is in the air, even in November. As they kiss goodbye for the hour they have to part for class, I turn away.

For all the worries about his making me forget to be soft… I don't think it will be he who condemns me to a lonely death but instead boys who put their hands on a girl’s waist and kiss them so sweetly.

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