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when i was a kid my dad used to read a computer beginner's guide to make me fall asleep


Eunice aphroditois.jpg

Eunice aphroditois is a benthic bristle worm of warm marine waters. It lives mainly in the Atlantic Ocean, but can also be found in the Indo-Pacific.[1][2] It ranges in length from less than 10 cm (4 in) to 3 m (10 ft). (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eunice_aphroditois)

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Sitting in the same fucking boring drab brown and empty grey coloured clothes and staring at the newspaper like a lifeless zombie at the horse racing pages. Eyes darting left to right like a greedy pike on the hunt, but everything else is fucking dead. Not just physically year zero but also there is no personality, there is no conversation, there is no joke, there is no spark. Nothing. Zilch. Like trying to use wet cabbage as kindling to start a fire. All there is nothing and a lifeless wisp of smoke. Total dead zone. Horse racing is fucking boring but the jockeys do have quite cooly coloured shirts and hats and they are quite tough bastards who deserve some respect, and horses are ultimate noble creatures. I do find it boring but not as much as the mindfuckingly mongoloid droids who are obsessed with it in my local pubs ?  

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  • 4 weeks later...

There's a Will Self story called "Understanding the Ur-Bororo" about an anthropologist who goes to the amazon and discovers and objectively boring tribe. Its hilarious boring.


'When I say that the Ur-Bororo are a boring tribe, this statement is not intended to be pejorative, or worse still, ironic.' Janner pushed himself forward in his chair, screwed up his eyes, and clenched his hands around the edges of the coffee table. 'The Ur-Bororo are objectively boring. They also view themselves as boring. Despite the superficially intriguing nature of the tribe, their obscure racial provenance, their fostering of the illusion of similarity to other Amazonian tribes, and the tiered structure of their language, the more time I spent with the Ur Bororo, the more relentlessly banal they became. '

'The Ur-Bororo believe that they were created by the Sky God, that this deity fashioned their forefathers and foremothers out of primordial muck. It wasn't what the Sky God should have been doing, it should have been doing some finishing work on the heavens and the stars. Creating the Ur-Bororo was what might be called a divine displacement activity.'


'By extension every word in the Ur-Bororo language has a number of different inflections to express kinds of boredom, or emotional states associated with boredom, such as apathy, ennui, lassitude, enervation, depression, indifference, tedium, and so on. Lurie made the mistake of interpreting the Ur Bororo language as if "Boring" were the root word. As a result he identified no less than two thousand subjects and predicates corresponding in meaning to the English word. Such as boring hunting, boring gathering, boring fishing, boring sexual intercourse, boring religious ceremony and so on. He was right in one sense-namely that the Ur-Bororo regard most of what they do as a waste of time. In fact the expression that roughly corresponds to "now" in Ur-Bororo is "waste of time.-"'


'The tribe moved off in the dawn half-light. As we walked, the sun came up. The jungle gave way to a scrubland, over which rags of mist blew. It was a primordial scene, disturbed only by the incessant, strident chatter of the Ur-Bororo. It was a fact that never ceased to astonish me, that despite their professed utter boredom, the Ur-Bororo continued to have the urge to bore one another still further.'

'On this particular morning-just as they had every other morning during the time I had spent among them-they were all telling one another the dreams they had had the night before. They all chose to regard their dreams as singular and unique. This provided them with the rationale for constant repetition. In truth, you have never heard anything more crushingly obvious than an Ur-Bororo dream anecdote. They went on and on, repeating the same patterns and the same caricatures of reality. It was like a kind of surreal nursery wallpaper. "And then I turned into a fish," one would say. "That's funny," would come the utterly predictable reply, "I changed into a fish in my dream as well, and today we're going fishing." And so on. Strict correspondence between dream and reality, that was the Ur Bororo's idea of profundity and as a consequence they placed only the most irritating interpretations on their dreams. A far as I was aware the Ur-Bororo had no particular view about the status of the unconscious-they certainly didn't attach any mystical significance to it. On the whole the impression their dreams gave was a kind of psychic clearing house where all the detritus of the waking world could be packaged away into neat coincidences.'


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Had a good day at the White Horse beer festival yesterday. Their ales generally are from very small, independent brewers which no one’s heard of (apart from the beardy weirdy crowd who look like Prog Rock Hobbits) so I can thank The Queen for the holiday and a day off to recover and all that. Royal stuff goes over my head and shelved in the file something I’ve never given a fuck about either one way or the other. Abolish them? absolutely fine mate. Keep them? Whatever mate. Definitely a boring thing to me. Might go tomorrow for round 2. 



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