Eternal Conscious Torment (ECT)

I recently happened across a little-known corner of Goodreads, that of the Christian reviewers of Christian-related books. Should they back the wrong denominational horse, theirs is a vocation with a potentially heavy toll. One such critic recently reviewed a book entitled Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived, by a certain Rob Bell. This is something of a formidable title. Undeterred, our critic unloosed. I have not read the book, and can only infer from the review that Mr Bell is convinced of ‘universal reconciliation’, the belief that all sinful and alienated souls will be reconciled with God. This would be a product of God’s divine love and mercy. Our critic finds this argument unconvincing, as they themselves have put money on all non-believers suffering ‘eternal conscious torment’, an expression common enough amongst like-minded folk to necessitate a nifty lil’ acronym; ECT. This disagreement is ruin enough to warrant a two-star review. In any case, I am oddly fond of this Christian warrior; fighting the good fight on the good ship Goodreads, one book at a time.

Unrelated to The Whale 

There doesn’t appear to be any correlation between the amount of cells in an organism’s body and the incidence of cancer. This is Peto’s Paradox. Now just imagine the life of excess you could lead as a humpback whale. Oscar Wilde called for a new era of hedonism - well I too ask for the same. Scientists must harness this aberration; so much for life-extending drugs, give me the body of a whale. 

Everything Is (Probably) Connected

In his book Everything is Connected: The Power of Music, Daniel Barenboim speaks of the difference between sound evolving out of silence and sound interrupting silence. For Barenboim, an obvious example for each is the opening of Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata, Op 13, and the prelude to Tristan und Isolde, respectively. There is a third option. That of the sound presenting as though it began earlier, as though certain artists have tapped into the shriek of the universe and coaxed the yawning brute into a catchy four-minuter. I believe this category is reserved for the likes of Outkast’s Hey Ya, Lil Nas X’s Old Town Road, and Katy Perry’s Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.). These are the cowboys of the primordial note. 

Insert Noise Made When Going Down a Slide

There is a word, Zugunruhe - literally ‘migration-anxiety’ - which pertains to the restlessness migratory birds exhibit just before departure. I wonder if humankind’s generally quite batshit behaviour is of similar produce - a fine indicator of our ever-inching towards the final ride. Perhaps, even, it is a wonderful excuse for our actions; we’re simply eager to go.

O Superman 

During a recent stint working in a foam factory, I had the bizarre experience of hearing Laurie Anderson’s O Superman playing loudly over the sound system. It inspired the all too implicit ‘what the fuck is this?’ mutterings but, if industry had an anthem, perhaps this would be it. Both the sense of undergoing a lengthy out of body experience and the vague futurism encased in the production line are mirrored, or at the very least enhanced, by Anderson’s ghostly, vocoder-clad voice. Hers is a song that amplifies each factory’s own prosody, forged on the grunts and clangs of man on metal. Or rather, in my instance, man on foam. Bastard fucking foam.