Norwegian Woman Claims to be Trans-Species, a Cat Trapped In a Human Body

From @rdbrewer, meow-she says meow-she is the victim of a "genetic defect" which makes meow-her a transcat.

The more civilized a society is -- or the more decadent; I am beginning to wonder if Conan of Cimmeria wasn't right that they're essentially the same -- the more time and space people have to indulge in play and fantasy.

Of course, this is, in the main, a good thing. Having to find food and water for oneself every single day might have the admirable effect of focusing one's mind on practical, tangible reality, but daydreaming, play, fantasy, storytelling, art and oral sex are nice luxuries to be able to indulge in.

Decadence is wonderful, really -- for as long you can afford it.

But, of course, when a society becomes so insulated from reality -- due to its wealth and domination over the environment -- it might lose itself dreaming.

The thing is, this can only go on for a short period, because reality will, ultimately, reimpose itself. A society that begins forgetting about the exacting rules of reality will soon lose its wealth and its soft cushions against the fundamental hardness of the world.

It is a strange thing indeed that in objectively bad economic times -- these are hard times, hustling times, scarce times -- we are simultaneously cursed with the strange dreamings of excessive wealth. I don't think that many people believed, during the Great Depression, that they were cats trapped in the bodies of humans.

I think they were more practical minded. Which is what then permitted them to rebuild and become prosperous again. And ultimately begin lapsing into dreamworlds in the seventies.

Yet here we are in objectively hard times, which should, if we are to ever scramble out of our predicament, produce hard thinking, yet we continue on this descent into indulgence and decadence.

These are hard times, but they do not produce hard thinking. They don't even produce soft thinking. They produce non-thinking. They produce psychosis.

They produce waking dreams, and not even dreams of the more interesting sort.

Where are the piles of gold we ought to be sleeping upon, if we are to dream so indulgently? We have our decadence, but where is our opulence to prop it up?

Strange days, and bad ones.

posted by Ace at 06:54 PM

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