Category Archives: animals

Good Riddance

Horsey

This is the last post for 2014. Good bye 2014. You were never good to me. The only high point would be travelling and my sister giving birth to my nephew, but other than that, 2014 was a disaster for me. It started with major health issues; then my personal finances took a huge hit, then a couple of my clients quit on me because they’ve been hit hard as well. I lost a couple of friends, was disillusioned with people at work, and it’s been a struggle making art. I’ve lost touch with my best friend recently and I noticed that I started to become more and more of a hermit. And what’s depressing is, I don’t mind.

I remember writing about an impromptu palm reading I had this year, that I would have a healthy but short life. If I get murdered or die in an accident in the next couple days, don’t bother with investigations or autopsies. It was 2014.

 

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Healthy But Short Life

Insect

I don’t put too much stock on palm reading or any sort of fortune telling at all, but during drinks, a palm reader looked at my hands and told me that I’ll have a healthy life… a short and healthy life.

See, I haven’t been the healthiest kid growing up. I was always sick with something… a skinny, asthmatic kid. This must be the root of my weak and cowardly nature. Anyway, I’m much better now. I’m not as skinny. Heck, there are parts of me that my wife would even call fat. My body basically forgot it had asthma, and the only thing that worries me is a somewhat enlarged thyroid and a slightly high blood pressure. The thyroid’s a genetic thing, and I just have to watch it. As for my blood pressure, it’s the burgers I’ve been having on a somewhat regular basis. I’m going to have to watch that, too. I work out, I take my vitamins, and I brush my teeth religiously. Healthy life.

Too bad that according to this palm reading; it’ll probably end soon in a fatal accident.

But is a short life really any worse than a long one? I guess it depends on a person’s lifestyle, or what exactly they’re doing with that life. But really, a short life is far worse for the people the dead leave behind. I don’t think the dead ever think that their lives are far too short. At least, that’s what I assume. When I pass away and become privy to the secrets of the universe, I don’t think I’ll mourn much for my short life. I’ll mourn for the living I leave behind, but not for dead old me. I like to imagine that there are grander truths after death, and that all of this living is inconsequential compared to the “life” afterwards. It sounds very Catholic of me. At least that’s what I prefer to think. It’s Catholic, not morbid.

All this talk of life and short lives remind me of Rufus Wainwright who wrote, “Life is the longest death in California.” The song is not my favorite, but it’s my favorite line he’s ever written.

Life truly is the longest death.

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Cock Violence

bloody_cock

I’ve been to a couple of cock fights, not in Canada of course.

The first thing that struck me was the amount of attention the owners gave their cocks. They would continuously stroke their cocks prior to entering the ring. some would even speak to their cocks, whispering who knows what. It truly was as if they were grooming a prized fighter. And yes, I suppose they were prize fighters. Some men would walk around with their cocks and people gave way as if they truly were somebody, like we were in Las Vegas, not in a tropical village somewhere.

The second thing I found peculiar was the betting, particularly the way people took bets. People yelled around pointing at cocks, gesturing at people around the ring, nodding, making signals, confirming with a dead-set serious look on their eyes. I did not see any notepads. People just yelled out bets, made some hand signals, and it was set.

Then, the match started. And as quickly as it began, it ends. Many people think it’s cruel. And yes, it is cruel. You can go to Youtube now and see how quickly the matches can be. What began as a ferocious looking cock with a blade strapped on its like quickly becomes this limp, pathetic, little thing, lying on the dirt and leaking blood. What’s eerie was that as loud as cocks can be, after all, you can hear them all over the barrio in the morning, they do not make a sound as the slowly die after a violent affair. No gasping for breath, no animal cries. The referee would pick up the loser cock, see if there’s any fight left, then leave the poor animal on the ground as he declares a winner. Whoever owns the losing cock would pick them up, tsk tsking from what I imagine is regret for losing a match than mourning for a beloved pet.

I guess losing cocks end up getting eaten. After all, I didn’t see any cock graves. It’s like what George Wallace said about chickens, “A chicken never dies of natural causes.” Now I’ve never eaten cock, but they must be pretty tough because those birds are bred to fight. It doesn’t matter whether it’s dark meat or if I sink my teeth into some breasts, I’m sure it’ll be a tough meal.

At the end of the match, crumpled money is either handed or thrown across the room to whomever is owed. I guess that’s what amazed me the most. Maybe it was because I watched it in a village where most people know everyone, but the honesty and the memory were unbelievable. I mean, who remembers who owes what? I couldn’t even tell who was making bets to whom. Does eye-contact hold up in court?

Both times, I ended up drinking after the matches. Whoever won the most from the cock fights ended up paying for most if not all of the food and drinks. It’s generous but it makes me wonder. Do people really make money out of these cock fights, or do they end up blowing it all on celebrating?

Oh well, that’s me talking about cocks.

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