It's back in all its persecuting glory.
A
constant
tribute
to
and
an
icon
of
superstition
and
fear,
a
stupidly
designed
structure
with
an
ugly
exterior
that
denied
Greek
and
Roman
engineering
and
beauty…
the
angry-god
cathedral,
Notre
Dame,
burned
down. Notre Dame burned down as
millions
were
starving
and
near-starving
to
death. Notre Dame burned down as
the
most
beautiful
and
triumphant
mammal
on
this
planet,
the
whale,
was
being
driven
to
extinction
by
humans
in
search
of
profit,
by
the
Japanese
in
search
of
vainglory
and
profit. Notre Dame burned down and
immediately
the
French
magnate, Francois-Henri
Pinault pledged
$112
million
to
restore
the
stupidity
and
ugliness.
The
totals
pledged
were
in
the
billions,
not
to
relieve
and
enhance
humanity,
but
to
politically
enhance
superstition
and
fear.
That,
my
friends,
is
the
signature
of
the
entire
history
of
the
human
species,
right
up
to
the
moment:
profit.
And
now,
it
was
revealed
that along
with
prolific
kangaroos,
Australia is
in
the
process
of
destroying
its
feral
feline
population,
estimated
to
be
in
the
millions.
They
brought
them
over
to
that
ill-weathered
continent
and
let
them
run
wild.
It’s
a
serious
problem
and
their
answer
is
to
plunder
them
to
death,
as
they
plundered
the
island’s
indigenous
population,
plundered
the
indigenous
ecosystem,
and
plundered
the
English
language.
Australia is a profitable plunderer.
I
have
two
cats,
two
blue-eyed
classic
three-year
old
Siamese.
I’ve
had
many
animals
in
my
life:
dogs,
birds,
fish,
gerbils
and
always
cats.
Actually
I
don’t
“have”
them,
I’m
their
guardian
not
their
keeper.
Unlike
humans,
a
cat’s
sentience
is
focused
on
the
present,
its
memories
are
part
of
its
programming,
there
is
no
future.
With
some
effort
on
my
part,
we
are
simpático.
I
can’t
abide
violence
and
killing
anything:
animals,
most
insects,
most
plants.
Which
has
led
me
to
a
point
where
I
can
no
longer
consume
meat,
fish
or
any
other
creature.
It’s
not
a
nutritional
thing,
it’s
an
emotional
thing
since
I
belong
to
a
species
that
will
stuff
anything
in
its
mouth
that
doesn’t
make
it
throw
up.
You’re
right
Athena,
I’m
either
an
anomaly
or
an
interstellar
alien
gone
astray.
Here
by
the
sea
where
I’m
staying
in
the
tropics,
there
is
more
than
an
abundance
of
living
things.
Geckos,
for
the
instance,
that
scramble
around
my
rooms
keeping
dengue
fever
at
bay.
They’re
welcome.
And
then…
there
are
ants.
It
takes
an
earnest
effort
to
get
them
out
and
keep
them
out.
Once
again
I
was
invaded
by
the
tiniest
ant
I’ve
ever
seen:
1/4
inch
(6.35mm).
They're
almost
invisible.
They're
called:
"Crazy
Ants"
because
their
dedication
and
cooperation
is
here-today,
gone-tomorrow
(much
like
saints,
miracles,
money
and
pedofile
scandals)
and
because
they
don't
move
in
straight
lines.
They
rush
around
in
crazy
circular
patterns
often
making
impromptu
nests
in
the
strangest
places:
under
an
oven
mitt,
in
a
crack
in
the
molding,
underneath
a
bed
pillow
(an
unknown
and
should
be
researched
cause
of
insomnia?).
So
what
to
do?
In
lieu
of
any
poisons,
I
mixed
up
some
borax
and
sugar
and
strategically
placed
the
little
enticements
around
and
safe
from
a
cat's
nose.
Within
three
days,
they
were
gone.
Actually,
it
was
a
little
sad.
I
find
ants
intriguing
as
they
go
about
their
programmed
business
without
any
ideology
or
philosophy
or
politics.
They
do
what
they
do
in
fascinating
ways.
If
I
lived
away
from
the
city
in
a
larger
place
I
would
never
destroy
them.
I wonder if Crazy Ants could survive in Notre Dame.
You bet they could.
They've been there since day one.
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