The ethics of eating animals have been debated on a variety of moral levels. Until recently there was no evidence to suggest livestock animals could form emotional experiences or an awareness of their role as sustenance for human animals. Here we present high-resolution crystal structure samples of livestock brain tissue in various settings, both clinical and in situ, in vivo, at farms and processing centers, directly before slaughter. Our findings indicate the animals release large doses of the same hormones and neurotransmitters found in humans -- the so-called sex & love chemicals -- namely testosterone, oestrogen, monoamines (e.g., dopamine, serotonin & norepinephrine), oxytocin and vasopressin. We theorize livestock possess some awareness of death, and experience emotional reactions of both sexual excitement and limerence. In human emotional terms, the animals lust to die and be consumed.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, while washing dishes and looking through the sink window at the oak trees turning to fall colors, Mrs. Everheart received a telephone call from her son's elementary school; it was the principal. There had been an incident. Her heart leaped when he said this, but he assured her it was a small matter, and only required she come and meet with him.
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Belle worked as a waitress at the diner on Route 30; she had four shifts each week, each ten hours. She was thirty-four and had been married once. Now, she just worked to get through the days until the idea of what to do with the rest of her life came along.

She was closing up near ten o'clock on a Thursday. Most of the customers were regulars and the last of the night, Jim Trumble, the local sheriff, had just walked out. She was going for the keys when an enormous man walked through the door. He wasn't tall but he was globular and obese, and wore stained overalls and flip flops. His arms were bare and his shoulders hairy, and the way the overalls pinched and stuck to his body suggested there was nothing was underneath. He was bald except for a crooked mustache and a fringe of hair above his neck; the head was too small for the rest of him.
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Carl was chewing on a microwaved breakfast croissant and watching the news. It was raining outside, and when he turned his head towards the window, he saw the back of man standing in the alleyway behind his apartment, urinating out a word on a brick wall. When the man zipped up his pants and walked away, Carl saw the letters: PENUS.
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I finished the series finale of Breaking Bad and the season three finale of The Walking Dead on the same day. Aside from roots in Southern Gothic, and lots of well-executed Badass tropes, the shows both share an interesting motif -- one that really becomes the entire moral of Breaking Bad: we live a dull, repetitive and generally meaningless existence. To step outside it -- to abandon it to the most extreme, ruthless and violent survivalism -- is the only way to truly be 'alive'.

The shows give a clever wink to this; Breaking Bad is centered around a man dying of cancer, and The Walking Dead is, well, a whole lot of dead people.

Both stories do give the joys of regular life their due, but the characters only reach their super-human level of 'aliveness' when they are put into the violence and struggle played out across the stark and strange beauty of their respective American landscapes. At the brilliant last shot of Breaking Bad, I found myself asking, "How can I get there?"
"Genki?" he asked to the empty room. He hadn't seen her for several hours -- a prostitute he hired from a small square ad in the back of a free local newspaper: Tokyo Dream Spa Massage in red chopsocky letters, doe-eyed faces of Asian women, clip-art bamboo and lotus flowers and a phone number promising "Eastern Dream Girls" in under one hour, to all areas of the city.

When she arrived he was disappointed. She was short, stocky, cross-eyed and bore a weird resemblance to a woman in accounting from his office. It was hardly a fantasy, but he was in town after a sales meeting boring enough to make him near-suicidal, and he figured a blowjob would be better than going back to drinking. It would start at the minibar and end with him waking up in a bathrobe on the lobby floor by the concierge (if he was lucky) or naked and on the sidewalk by the police (if he was not). The inevitable drunken disasters were always good war stories years later, but the 12-step kool-aid and the people in recovery" thanking god and hugging and saying the sayings were unbearable. It works if you work it so work it your worth it. If it worked for him it was only because he hated the other alcoholics so much. Being sober just meant the end of meetings, and that was enough to keep him away from the bottle.

So it alarmed him a bit when the woman -- who introduced herself with an enthusiastic firm handshake and stated her name like a question mark Gen-KI? -- entered the room and began guzzling vodka out of a bottle from her purse. He tried to make small talk but she just said, "Two hundred dollars, Okay?" and pointed to the night table.
That night he had the dream again: gray and steeply diagonal streets of Brooklyn. Street lamps out or barely flickering and something stalking behind him. First it was an ape on all fours. Then, later, as an out-of-tune piano faded-in, the ape transformed into a naked, feral Billy Joel.
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Oct. 8th, 2013 12:15 am
Anyone want to do some skyping? Like you know, where we're both naked? Good clean fun I tell you. Actually, I've been working so much my sex drive is gone.
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1. Your painful childhood memories are constantly re-written as a result your adult sins, not the other way around.

2. Become a spokesperson for a disease: The disease of being homo sapiens, which always ends in fatality.

3. Social conventions of this time have erased the idea that hell is other people, but it is still true.

4. Violence and sex have similar rituals, namely voyeurism.

5. What if you relived every orgasm you've had, one right after the other. What would that do to your brain?

6. Other mammals have sex. We're the only species that layers meaning over it. Other species practice homosexuality. Were the only species that somehow finds this inappropriate.
Everyone I know through work is on some manner of restricted diet: Jim is on paleo and Jason is vegan. Joe says things like, "most foods are inflammatory to the body." Denise (or De-yeast) as I now call her, just completed a yeast cleanse diet; a remnant of the idiocy of Candida Sensitivity pseudoscience which has been replaced as of late by Gluten Free. Unless you have Celiac Disease or are immunocompromised, there's just no point.

Veganism is defensible on moral grounds, although small farm cheese hardly constitutes animal cruelty. The vegan Irish Setter I dated once told me, "A person can become addicted to cheese." She didn't mean it as hyperbole. Stupidity knows no end. She liked Dan Brown too.

All this wouldn't be so grotesque if it weren't an obvious stand-in for some psycho-social vacancy. Who can say what's lacking? Creativity, love, general satisfaction? Is it a need to feel important, a need to be given special treatment; to order at a restaurant and subtlety demand more attention than the average customer? It could be called Nutritional Neurosis, but I'm calling it Williamsburg Disease. All the hipsters and yupsters are pounding their livers with drinking binges (yeah, okay, I do that too) but, during the day, they're diddling around their plates like prissy children.
Giving some serious consideration to purchasing a silverback gorilla or a fully grown alligator as a house pet. And why not? Why should I come home and console myself with a pandering dog when I can open my apartment door and immediately enter a life and death struggle with a wild animal? What we need around here is some reminder of our precious mortality.
At a bar in the West Village, framed, on a wall:

1. Go into a Rite Aid or a Duane Read or CVS and approach the store guard, preferably, or a clerk. If you're a man, tell them you need soap to wash your vagina; a woman, soap to wash your penis. Then turn your head and smile at them for a very long time. If you can, raise your eyebrows for dramatic effect.

2. Learn some good pickup lines to try out next time your out on the town. A good one for a man to say to a woman is, "Hi, do you like pre-cum?" And don't just say them: deliver them with some panache: with one leg on a chair and your body leaning over, bent arm resting on your thigh. A winning smile will only add to the charm.

3. Next time your with a lover, have a thank you card ready for them after you orgasm. Be sure to spell their name correctly on the card.

4. When you're in a restaurant, complain to the waiter that the water doesn't have any flavor and it tastes bland. If the waiter suggests something else, slam your hand down on the table and shout, "What the hell happened to this country?" The ask to speak to the owner in a threatening voice.

5. In a movie theater, in the middle of a movie, stand up and do everyone the favor of explaining that "it's all made up" and "it's not real" and "there aren't even people inside the screen." If people complain, tell them they're "living in a sick fantasy world."
If I get into another serious relationship it's going to be with Holly.more... )
1. Stare at yourself in the mirror for 1 hour each day. At the end of the hour address your reflection and say, "Thank you for your time."

2. When eating food alone in your apartment, lay out all your forks. Take one bite of food with one fork and promptly throw it away. When you are out of forks put on winter mittens and eat with your hands. For optimal performance, you shouldn't be wearing any other garments.

3. If a stranger approaches you in the street, smile at them warmly. Then, with a windmilling of your arm, kindly punch them in the stomach and say, "I find you attractive."

4. Take baths in hot sauce or pina colata mix. Then dry off with a 1x1 square of paper towel.

5. If you get into a crowded elevator, wait for the doors to close and scream at the top of your lungs that Bigfoot was recently in the area, probably in the elevator itself. Explain that you know this by scent alone and that you are an expert. If you are asked for proof of identification, offer the expired library card of a child.

Take some fuck then some shit
then some fuck then some shit
You've got a fuck-shit stack
A fuck-shit stack

It's a stack of fuck-shit on top of itself, nigga
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