OF THE
TIMES
The British Government has also zig-zagged.More accurate terminology: 'flip-flopped'. (Zig zag is usually a series of 90 degree turns. Flip flop is a 180.)
the biggest state takeover of life and work ever attempted by non-Communists.The "communists" were their minions. As the national-socialist were.
A word in your ear Peter. These people ARE Communists.
The social atmosphere is that of a besieged city, where the possession of a lump of horseflesh makes the difference between wealth and poverty. And at the same time the consciousness of being at war, and therefore in danger, makes the handing-over of all power to a small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of survival.Orwell, Nineteen Eighty Four, free at [Link]
Human flesh is poisonous to humans (IMO) ...I have heard of Kuru. But I am not convinced that there is a causal relation to cannibalism. OTOH, the human body is an animal-machine, you will have to feed it what it needs to stay healthy. THAT is what Vegans don't get - they think they can transcend human (animal) nature by pure willpower.
...because it causes spiritual death followed by spiritual possession.Until one (you, perhaps) can prove a working mechanism for that effect to me, I view it as a fairytale, equivalent to the Covid-1984 scare. One can believe in god (albeit not as Jahwe the white-bearded jew lover) and still insist on scientific methods - see Occam for example.
have you ever read 'Hannibal'? Harris goes into how Lecter got into eating people.RC
"Thirty-three men, trapped 700 meters (2,300 ft) underground and 5 kilometers (3 mi) from the mine's entrance via spiraling underground ramps, were rescued after 69 days."They all had slipped off to some hardened 'safety shelter'.
The trapped miners' emergency shelter had an area of 50 square meters (540 sq ft) with two long benches,[39] but ventilation problems had led them to move out into a tunnel
Seventeen days after the accident, a note was found taped to a drill bit pulled back to the surface: "Estamos bien en el refugio, los 33" (We are well in the shelter, the 33 of us).The youngest miner was 19 years old..Then, they ate up all of the food in the shelter, and 'Timothy' started looking ever more tasty. "Timothy, Timothy. Where on earth did you go? God why don't I know?" [Link]
"They were all covered with a sheen of sweat resulting from the high heat and humidity of the mine at that depth."Finally, the worst part was, I imagine that people wished to kill themselves but they couldn't just wander off and kill themselves - no place to go where they could hope that, 'Yeah, maybe RC really got away!" - your body would be found. That - killing ones' self - there was no way to do it where you would not leave a bad impression on those kids behind that certain angelesque humans (who were determined to save all, but most importantly the kids), no way you could do it. Suck it up and suffer and sweat and starve and 'enjoy Bitch!'
Certainly they had brought with them some rotten hippo-meat, which couldn't have lasted very long, anyway, even if the pilgrims hadn't, in the midst of a shocking hullabaloo, thrown a considerable quantity of it overboard. It looked like a high-handed proceeding; but it was really a case of legitimate self-defense. You can't breathe dead hippo waking, sleeping, and eating, and at the same time keep your precarious grip on existence. Besides that, they had given them every week three pieces of brass wire, each about nine inches long; and the theory was they were to buy their provisions with that currency in river-side villages. You can see how _that_ worked. There were either no villages, or the people were hostile, or the director, who like the rest of us fed out of tins, with an occasional old he-goat thrown in, didn't want to stop the steamer for some more or less recondite reason. So, unless they swallowed the wire itself, or made loops of it to snare the fishes with, I don't see what good their extravagant salary could be to them.RC
I must say it was paid with a regularity worthy of a large and honorable trading company. For the rest, the only thing to eat--though it didn't look eatable in the least--I saw in their possession was a few lumps of some stuff like half-cooked dough, of a dirty lavender color, they kept wrapped in leaves, and now and then swallowed a piece of, but so small that it seemed done more for the looks of the thing than for any serious purpose of sustenance. Why in the name of all the gnawing devils of hunger they didn't go for us--they were thirty to five--and have a good tuck in for once, amazes me now when I think of it. They were big powerful men, with not much capacity to weigh the consequences, with courage, with strength, even yet, though their skins were no longer glossy and their muscles no longer hard. And I saw that something restraining, one of those human secrets that baffle probability, had come into play there. I looked at them with a swift quickening of interest--not because it occurred to me I might be eaten by them before very long, though I own to you that just then I perceived--in a new light, as it were--how unwholesome the pilgrims looked, and I hoped, yes, I positively hoped, that my aspect was not so--what shall I say?--so--unappetizing: a touch of fantastic vanity which fitted well with the dream-sensation that pervaded all my days at that time. P erhaps I had a little fever too. One can't live with one's finger everlastingly on one's pulse. I had often 'a little fever,' or a little touch of other things- -the playful paw-strokes of the wilderness, the preliminary trifling before the more serious onslaught which came in due course. Yes; I looked at them as you would on any human being, with a curiosity of their impulses, motives, capacities, weaknesses, when brought to the test of an inexorable physical necessity.
Restraint! What possible restraint? Was it superstition, disgust, patience, fear--or some kind of primitive honor? No fear can stand up to hunger, no patience can wear it out, disgust simply does not exist where hunger is; and as to superstition, beliefs, and what you may call principles, they are less than chaff in a breeze. Don't you know the devilry of lingering starvation, its exasperating torment, its black thoughts, its somber and brooding ferocity? Well, I do. It takes a man all his inborn strength to fight hunger properly. It's really easier to face bereavement, dishonor, and the perdition of one's soul--than this kind of prolonged hunger. Sad, but true. And these chaps too had no earthly reason for any kind of scruple. Restraint! I would just as soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowling amongst the corpses of a battlefield. But there was the fact facing me--the fact dazzling, to be seen, like the foam on the depths of the sea, like a ripple on an unfathomable enigma, a mystery greater--when I thought of it--than the curious, inexplicable note of desperate grief in this savage clamor that had swept by us on the river-bank, behind the blind whiteness of the fog.
Hawthorne's term, 'The Ultimate Sin
behind that certain angelesque humans (who were determined to save all, but most importantly the kids), no way you could do it. Suck it up and suffer and sweat and starve and 'enjoy Bitch!'
Comment: See also: