Letter Day Omega: Tales from a future hobo
July 28, 2008
It’s been a long week. No intro today. Lets get down to business.
What would the moral implications of eating a “My Little Pony” be? Assuming they were real. Is it worse than eating a Dolphin? Than punching a Unicorn in the face? Making love to a Teddy Ruxpin doll you’d implanted with a recording begging you to stop?
Davos in Chicago
That’s a tough question, Davos. It asks what obligation do we have to other species? How much weight, if any, sentience/intelligence plays in that obligation? And why Teddy would dress like that if he didn’t want us to take a voyage on his magical airship?
I’m going to need to bust out a mini assessment scale to provide some clarity on this issue.
Beats Entropy, Mythical discourtesy scale:
1. Rogering Teddy. Despite his protests.
2. Making a Lemur wear a chinchilla coat to a weasel convention
3. Informing a Barba-Poppa it looks like a nutsack
4. Punching a Unicorn in the face
5. Placing used chewing gum in Jehovas beard
6. Eating a My Little Pony (likely Sundance) 
7. Setting fire to Oscar the Grouch’s trashcan, without first removing Slimey.
8. Using Pippi Longstocking’s invisible bike in a drive-by-shooting.
9. Whoring a Who down in Whoville.
10. Filling Thomas the Tank Engine with Sarin nerve gas during the lunch hour rush.
(1): Extra points if you eat Meghan as well.
I have incurable bone cancer. It would comfort me greatly to know what the next world holds for me. I realize religious guidance is not your providence, but you’re only person I trust to give me a straight answer.
Zeph, I don’t even know what this world holds…for me…today. And I’m cool with that. Foreknowledge, for the most part, is worthless: it does nothing but build anxiety, and bleed down experience. If I had to guess (what comes next) I’d say dissolution and ease over comes us. That we soften into the background, and very broad answers are remembered. The only comfort, I imagine, is that which we release. It’s not the worst deal.
How come you don’t put poetry up on the site anymore?
Well, Jessica, there are a couple reasons:
1) It feels hypocritical. While I enjoy writing it, I’ve joined passing pro life mobs to avoid reading other peoples compositions. I respect the medium in an abstract sense, but the end product tend to be so insular, and self indulgent/referential, that it feels more like bland voyeurism than real artistic engagement. (With the odd rare exception) it’s on par with browsing through someone else’s scrapbook, or blog.<— And that’s the competent poetry: an incredibly rare subspecies in the poetry phylum.
Bad poetry. Man, I’d rather be double teamed by leprous armadillos than slog my way through other people’s bad poetry. It’s like trying to kiss an ugly baby: you just want to smother and shake it, put it out of its misery, but you can’t…since everyone is watching.
2) I only write poetry when I’m wooing or freshly broken up. Strip me of my libido, I’d be writing model airplane instructions, and stern letters to city councilmen. Yet, once those pheromones hit, the metre starts to flow, and simple statements fold into artful convolutions. It’s a disease really: some flaw in the Celtic genome taking the place of proper judgment.
The breakup stuff, while even more unbearable, is about providing context and closure. Pulling unwieldy feelings into an arena that offers apparent resolution.
 And yes, this is clearly hypocritical as well.