this bloated body is all that exists
Again five figures on the pedo today and I think I’m safe in saying that’ll be regular from now on. A combination of definitely more activity and finding a spot wide on the hip that keeps the pedo ticking over rapidly.
It’s only the merest start though, the tiniest victory in the battle of the bulge, in the inexorable march toward superspecimenhood. I visited the mirror today, aka the Russian front, and I must deliver the grim news on my torso. White and tripey (though the backs of my hands and my lower forearms are of a more pleasant café au lait), and in the chest and upper back region, grey and hairy too. The greatest challenge for the future (let’s be optimistic) lurks in the sad sack of my soft underbelly, where the relentless pressure of gravity is barely contained by a pale flaccid envelope of flesh. My weight, in jocks, on an unreliable bathroom scale, is around 76 kilos, and I should be aiming for under or around 70 as a proper weight for height ratio. I don’t get to the Central market so much these days, but I must remember, when there, to weigh myself on their excellent scales by the escalators. Need to monitor here my food intake as well, amount as well as type.
Bought a new exercise machine, cheap, from Sarah’s daughter. Thought a lot about that expressive word 'junky' last night while painting my lounge-room wall grey. Junkies - a term which should be used for anyone dependent on mind-altering substances, including alcohol - really do seem to accumulate junk, turn their possessions to junk, junk their relationships, junk up their minds. Their cars in particular crumble predictably into junk and have to be towed away to junkyards. Now there’s a pile of junk in my carport which I won’t be clear of for months, if not years, due to my ‘good-heartedness’ (really laziness or weakness) in respect of a pair of junkies. Anyway, the exercise machine pumps up the calves and thighs mainly I think.
I want to turn to what I hope will be a major theme of this journal, which is the consternation that religion and spiritualism have always caused me. Consternation’s a good old-fashioned word which most effectively describes my mixture of confusion, anger, resentment, frustration, contempt, wonder and outright astonishment I feel at the prevalence of religious belief, spiritual longings and the like, throughout human society. Susan Blackmore, in New Scientist (Nov 13 2004, p36), is admirably succinct and certain in her view: Throughout history many people have believed in a soul or spirit. Yet science has long known that this cannot be so. There is just a brain that is made of exactly the same kind of stuff as the world around it. I agree that all the evidence supports this view, but of course it’s not just in history that people have believed in these things, billions of people believe right now in souls or spirits. Most of these people know little and care less about evolutionary theory or philosophical materialism.
It’s only the merest start though, the tiniest victory in the battle of the bulge, in the inexorable march toward superspecimenhood. I visited the mirror today, aka the Russian front, and I must deliver the grim news on my torso. White and tripey (though the backs of my hands and my lower forearms are of a more pleasant café au lait), and in the chest and upper back region, grey and hairy too. The greatest challenge for the future (let’s be optimistic) lurks in the sad sack of my soft underbelly, where the relentless pressure of gravity is barely contained by a pale flaccid envelope of flesh. My weight, in jocks, on an unreliable bathroom scale, is around 76 kilos, and I should be aiming for under or around 70 as a proper weight for height ratio. I don’t get to the Central market so much these days, but I must remember, when there, to weigh myself on their excellent scales by the escalators. Need to monitor here my food intake as well, amount as well as type.
Bought a new exercise machine, cheap, from Sarah’s daughter. Thought a lot about that expressive word 'junky' last night while painting my lounge-room wall grey. Junkies - a term which should be used for anyone dependent on mind-altering substances, including alcohol - really do seem to accumulate junk, turn their possessions to junk, junk their relationships, junk up their minds. Their cars in particular crumble predictably into junk and have to be towed away to junkyards. Now there’s a pile of junk in my carport which I won’t be clear of for months, if not years, due to my ‘good-heartedness’ (really laziness or weakness) in respect of a pair of junkies. Anyway, the exercise machine pumps up the calves and thighs mainly I think.
I want to turn to what I hope will be a major theme of this journal, which is the consternation that religion and spiritualism have always caused me. Consternation’s a good old-fashioned word which most effectively describes my mixture of confusion, anger, resentment, frustration, contempt, wonder and outright astonishment I feel at the prevalence of religious belief, spiritual longings and the like, throughout human society. Susan Blackmore, in New Scientist (Nov 13 2004, p36), is admirably succinct and certain in her view: Throughout history many people have believed in a soul or spirit. Yet science has long known that this cannot be so. There is just a brain that is made of exactly the same kind of stuff as the world around it. I agree that all the evidence supports this view, but of course it’s not just in history that people have believed in these things, billions of people believe right now in souls or spirits. Most of these people know little and care less about evolutionary theory or philosophical materialism.
posted by Stewart at 1:35 pm
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