Saturday, March 30, 2013


Some words are so dangerous they have to be sent to word prison. Word prison is a kind of cultural Siberia. The idea is that if a dangerous word serves a long term in word prison no one will remember its significance by the time of its release and the word is rendered harmless by antiquity. Words get sent to word prison all the time. The type of words that get sent to word prison are not necessarily profane words. Profanity is more frowned upon than criminalised. Profane words are the lexicanonical equivalents of smokers or gypsies or something. The type of words that get sent to word prison are more than just naughty words, they are incendiary words, words that could start wars if spoken.

One of the nastiest inmates in word prison has been designated the new identity of The N Word. (That is what you do with dangerous words, you take the first letter from them and use that letter to refer to them.) Given that it was sent to word prison relatively recently, you might still remember The N Word. You might remember it but you dare not speak it lest you be the gateway by which societal tumult is released and/or are considered a bit of a dick. I'm going to risk typing The N Word here. I hope you understand that I am doing this for academic purposes and that you can forgive me. However, let this be the last time this word is typed or uttered. Right, here goes. Are you ready? If you don't want to see it you can look away now. OK. I'm going to type it. I'm typing The N Word next. The next word after the last word in this sentence will be The N Word. Nifflebibble. There I did it. Remember that one? Remember all the trouble it caused? See how feeble it is now compared to in the past when it had the power to incite events like the Viennese N Word riots of 1827? Despite all the time that has passed, I still feel unclean for just typing the word. That malignant combination of letters can still cause a lot of grief in certain regions. We can only take comfort in the knowledge that The N Word will remain incarcerated until such a time it can do little but wander the world entirely redundant, looking for a mouth to come out of and row to start, only to fail miserably - like an infamously violent hoodlum who leaves prison too withered and old to throw a punch.


Did you know that there is a nation that has banned the use of words entirely. The logic being that any word can potentially cause unrest so all words, including the name of the nation itself, have been sent to word prison. You are only permitted to speak two words in this nation, the word 'the' and the word 'word'. Saying letters is also permitted. This allows people to continue communicating without using words. However, just saying a simple greeting can be a very drawn out process in this nation. Instead of simply saying 'hello, how are you?' the citizens of this unnamed nation have to say: 'The h word, the other h word, the a word and the y word'. As you've probably deduced, this can get pretty confusing. So many words start with the same letter. People often misunderstand each other. It can lead to trouble at times with people wrongly taking offence. To be honest, sending the whole dictionary to word prison hasn't really helped this nation. All the breakdowns in communication have badly effected the economy. The people are unhappy because they can no longer make themselves understood. Ironically, the exchanging of insults is where most clarity remains. Someone pointing at you and shouting 'the f word and the o word' is obviously telling you to go away and in no uncertain terms.


Instead of being sent to word prison, sometimes words are just banished from certain places, like an individual might get barred from a nightclub or pub. Due to some traumatic past event or colossal faux pas, seemingly harmless words might hold a significantly dire association in particular workplaces or social groups. Groups of colleagues, friends, or acquaintances often banish words from their direct circle. Sometimes the forbidden word might be a name. You might meet a group of jovial bachelors who go a bit tense when you mention the name 'Edith'. From the sudden silence and the communal dropping of eyes, you will realise that an Edith was once known to these gents and that something bad came of this. One bachelor might even mutter something like 'bloody Ediths' and another will snarl at him 'leave it!'. Then, after a brief lull, you'll all go back to talking about the match. Certain words can also be barred from family homes, I know because there was a word banned from the house where I grew up. A simple enough word that, when uttered, sent out invisible shockwaves like the detonation of a psychological bomb. A word that meant nothing of any import to others but brought something appalling to the minds of my whole family. That word was 'rancheros' and to find out more just click the following escapee from my personal word prison: RANCHEROS!!!

Tuesday, March 26, 2013


I've invented a few words in my time. Words for unseeable conceptual things I've noticed or sensations I've felt that don't have names. Urnk, fweelt, huphtink, and schwelpt - that's just four of them. There are lot more. I have them all listed in a journal. Sometimes I forget to write down what they mean and when I make that mistake it inevitably leads me to forget the thing I invented the name for even exists in the first place. I'll try and make myself clearer: Imagine you noticed the sensation of feeling at ease. You noticed that everyone seems to undergo this sensation at times. You start to recognise it in others, a gentle smile and unguarded body posture. So, imagine you decide to name this sensation of feeling at ease. For the sake of simplicity, let's imagine you call this sensation 'comfort', a word that, along with any possible synonyms for the same sensation, has heretofore not existed. Now imagine you write the word down. Now imagine that you return some time later to discover the word 'comfort' in the place you wrote it but you have forgotten what it relates to, what it means, and you have forgotten that 'comfort' ever existed. Can you imagine something like that? Well, that kind of thing happens to me all the time. Unseen things only exist when named. If you forget the names of unseen things they vanish from your mind. I mean to say, they are still there, it's just that you can no longer perceive them.

If we all forgot what the word 'comfort' meant we would forget we even feel it or have a need to feel it. We would live in near perpetual discomfort, only occasionally experiencing the unrecognised sensation of 'comfort' quite by chance. We wouldn't discuss it or anything. We'd probably never mention it. You might doubt this. You might say that we would eventually put a name to a sensation if it was something we felt. 'After all', you might say, 'we do have names for unseeable sensations and concepts'. You might apply this logic and say that it proves my postulation invalid. However, if you were to do such a thing I would be forced to point out that you seem decidedly underschwelpt. This would make you confused. You would not know what I meant but this would only be because you would not recognise the unseeable truth I would have described. You'd have no idea what I am talking about but believe me, your obvious lack of schwelptness would be showing and you would be risking absolute huphtink.

So you see, a great many unseeable things have yet to be named. A great many others have been named but those names forgotten or what they mean has been forgotten. We should really keep an archive so we don't become unaware of more of these unseeable sensations and concepts. Some may be of great significance. Some may define fundamental aspects of human experience. It would be a tragedy to lose more of them. For example, can you remember what it is to chizzet? No, I thought not. Sad really. I think it is high time we catalogued these words in journals - perhaps in alphabetical order with the meanings of the words written next to each entry. We could call these journals Lexiconicons or Wordadoriums. What do you think? Really? I think the idea is pretty fweelty myself.

I'll conclude by making a prediction. Have you noticed how the word 'morality' is being used less and less these days? It is, really. You tend to find other words in its place. Words like 'practicality' or 'realpolitik'. Soon we'll stop considering the concept of morality altogether and quit discussing it or aspiring to it. We'll forget that morality ever existed but, you know, maybe it never did. Maybe this is one case of a word that is best left to oblivion. Maybe 'morality' is just used as an abstract excuse for other things or maybe it's too vague and subjective and impossible to objectively quantify. Maybe we never should have believed in it in the first place. Maybe this word is a word for an unseeable thing that actually doesn't exist. Yes, maybe we should forget it. Maybe it's just a silly word. Maybe it's just a load of urnk.

Saturday, March 23, 2013


In the future, everyone will continue to use words even though they will have forgotten their meaning. This will be thanks to innovations like Facebook and superficial people taking over culture and and things like that. It's already beginning to happen. People are using words without knowing what they really mean. Take the word 'awesome' for example. 'Awesome' used to refer to things that inspired a feeling of awe, like seeing an eighty tonne blue whale surface next to your boat or watching the aurora borealis streak and shimmer across the night sky. These days however, the word 'awesome' is employed as an expression of approval, often mild, as in:
Man: 'There's a two for one on bottles of ketchup in Lidl until the end of the week.'
Woman: 'Awesome.'

'Like' is another example. Instead of being something you feel, 'like' is now something you do. You do it on your computer. It just takes a fraction of a second. It's a thing you do to oblige others in the hopes that they will oblige you in return by 'liking' something of yours. It's a kind of conditional quid pro quo transaction. You contribute 'likes' and collect 'likes'. It's similar to philately, only less interesting. Liking things, on an emotional level, is no longer relevant. 'Liking' is now an activity. Everyone is gradually forgetting what it actually is to like something but no one has forgotten that it is important to be 'liked'.

Despite the excellence of the above examples, you still mightn't think that people have forgotten what some words mean. You mightn't have noticed because, despite having forgotten what certain words mean, people still remember the facial expressions and mannerisms that go with these words. Take 'happy' for example. 'Happy' has the smiley emoticon face. Likewise, 'angry' has a frowning emoticon. People use these emoticons when they are online and facially imitate them in the offline world. The protocol associated with certain words is retained but the actual meaning of them, the feeling of them, what they represent on an emotional or visceral level, is long gone.

Now that I've pointed it out, you'll notice this phenomenon more and more. You'll get that 'in the uncanny valley' sensation. It's the feeling you get when you see a creepy mannequin or android that is just about lifelike but not quite. Near human but inhuman. Seemingly alive but obviously dead. It looks happy. It looks sad. It smiles at you. There is something deeply chilling and repulsive about the attempted emulation. You'll get this same feeling when you notice people using words they no longer know the meaning of – a deeply chilling repulsion.

Has a psychopath ever told you that they love you? If this happened you would know that the psychopath does not love you. You would know that the psychopath just needs you for some reason and that is why the psychopath is claiming to love you. The psychopath says they love you in the hopes that you will love them back. Like anyone, the psychopath needs love but, unlike almost everyone, the psychopath cannot return the love. The psychopath does not want the love of someone the psychopath loves, no, the psychopath wants the love of someone the psychopath needs – so they can feel validated, or progress in some way, or survive, or maybe even destroy. The psychopath is an ego without real emotions. The psychopath knows the protocols but has no real idea what they represent. The psychopath is just making use of these things. The psychopath is leading the way. Don't forget to give the psychopath 'likes'. You should subscribe to the psychopath's channel. Why not follow the psychopath on Twitter @psychopath #pretending. 

Wednesday, March 20, 2013


(pictured: an extract from The Long Word)

I've invented a new word. It is an unsayable word. It is actually impossible for a human to say the word. This is because the word is very long. So long that I can't type it here, it would hog up loads of the blog. While saying this word you need to inhale but you can't because you are saying the word. You die from lack of oxygen before you get to the end of the word. Even if you somehow devised a means by which you could take in breath whilst saying the word it wouldn't help because it takes longer than the average lifetime to say the word. This is ironic. The irony being that this long word I've invented is a synonym for 'why'. You never get the answer. You never even get to finish asking the question. You may as well not bother and that's probably the point.

Sunday, March 17, 2013


We need some money. Have you got any money? We've run out of money. If we have no money we can't give you money so give us some money. Have you got any money? We're nothing without money. If we have no money then you'll have no money and you're nothing without money. You can't have a home without money. You can't have a family without money. You have no shoes on your feet without money. Education costs money. Health costs money. Justice costs money. You have no rights without money. You are not a proper person without money. If you want to have money you'll have to give us your money. I mean, can you imagine a world without money? There would be no money. You can't have anything without money. Everything costs money. Ideas cost money. Innovation costs money. Self-expression costs money. Art costs money, lots and lots of money. Work costs money and leisure costs money. War costs money and peace costs money. Even air costs money. We have to clean the air by spending money because we made it dirty while we were making money so now even air costs money. Money doesn't make sense so to make money make sense we need to spend money. The problem is money but the solution is money so give us some money because we ran out of money when we were trying to make more money and we need money to make more money to get back the money we lost making money. So it's all about money. We need some money. Have you got any money?

Friday, March 15, 2013


(pictured – our simple man in simpler times ...with a simple general)

I hear that he is a man of little want, just a few simple necessities, an exemplar of simplicity. A simple man who sleeps in a simple bed and cooks at a humble stove. A humble man, an advocate of humility. Not one for largesses or adornment or any of that, he is just a simple man with a simple cross around his his simple neck. I heard a story, an anecdote, that stood to his unostentatious nature. He once wanted a cup of tea but instead of asking some woman to make it he took to his feet, crossed the room to where the kettle was, and made it himself. Yes, he made his own tea. He made his own tea that day and drank it from a modest clay cup. He imbibed the tea, silently enjoying the beverage, and when he was finished he took to his feet once more and crossed the room. Observers did not know where he was going but it was toward the sink that he was headed. He reached the sink and placed the cup into it and ran the tap, rinsing the cup beneath the flowing water. He then placed the cup on a draining board that lay to one side of the sink and he left it there to dry. He did all these things and he did them himself. It was not some woman or drudge that did these things for him.

He travels on public transport too I hear. No chauffeur or the like for him, no, just change for the bus or a tram or some such. Unlike the man whose name he took, he indulges the modest comfort of wearing shoes upon his feet but I hear that he puts these shoes on himself and also removes them. Yes, he does all this himself. He does not get some woman or skivvy to do it. He puts on and takes off his own shoes. Who amongst us can say that? Who amongst us can claim to not just put on but also remove our own shoes? Not I. The Mother does that for me as I am sure your mother does for you, or your wife, or some woman.

I heard too of a time he encountered a child. He encountered a child upon a back road in Buenos Aires and he did not fondle that child. I heard there was no one about, at least not many, and despite this the child remained completely unmolested. Who amongst us, in all truthfulness, could say they would have passed up such an opportunity? A vulnerable child, alone, a tender seductive peach. Can we claim that we too would not have taken 'a bite'?

Indeed the Holy Ghost chose wisely on the 13th of the 3rd 2013. The Holy Ghost chose wisely via the conscientious consciousnesses of that conclave of noble men as they selected the conduit by which the divine will be known upon this material plane. This conclave of men acted on behalf of the Holy Spirit. They took this duty upon themselves. They did not ask some woman to do it. Indeed, there were no women present. Women are not even permitted into the chamber as the choice is made. Just men, men who selflessly surrender themselves to God's will. These men selected the right man and now that man shall lead us all. He shall lead us all and he alone shall lead us. He will not ask some woman to do it. Indeed, no woman will ever do it, they are not allowed, but they can follow, and wait, and serve. Yes, if they be asked, women can serve but they will not be asked by him for he is a simple man who does things himself. He will make his own tea and put on his own shoes and he will lead his flock further into the 21st century. He will do this and he will do this himself, unaided by some woman or drudge or skivvy, for he is a simple man. Yes, he is a simple man of simple means and simple belief and he will simply lead his simpletons and they will simply follow, even the women and the tender seductive peaches that are the children.

And what of those who simply will not follow his simple path? Well, it is worth remembering that this is a simple man who helped a simple dictator make people simply disappear. But shush, for this is a happy time and we simply will not hear speak of such simple things.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013


Francis Pontifex Maximus Homophobeus Fascismo novus fructose l.casei immunitas – Molestus, Molestus.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013


Seeing as there is all this palaver over the resignation of the Pope and the appointment of his successor, I thought I'd check out the prophecy of Saint Malachy - the 12th century Irish archbishop who foresaw all the popes to come, from his days to the last. I have to admit, I was more than a little shocked at what I read. Here's what he had to say in full...

'Scarlet and purple pontiffs of the paedophile protectorate dither and deliberate all you will, it makes no difference for your days of luxury, hypocrisy, and simony are at an end. The Terrible Judge is cometh and the city on seven hills will be laid low. Even a dancing puppet of a John Paul II 2.0 couldn't help you now. You conclave of curs. You preservers of inequity. You propagators of prejudice and of shame.You least loved by He who loveth even the least lovable of things. You sucklers of Babylonian whore tit. You gelatinous celebrants of secret sem(e)nary trysts. You hateful birds in unclean cages. You foul spirits in a habitation of devils. You tabernacle befoulers. You covert worshippers of the Beast. You appalling shower of cunts.

The Terrible Judge is coming. He is coming and He has got His boots on. The earth shall shake a warning beneath the feet of all nations. Heed too the herald Pan-STARRS above for lo' tis with the fiercest of lightening you will soon be struck. Ecclesiastical arses will be booted skyward and the flock shall gasp and weep but then cheer upon enlightenment. 

Admonito! Admonito! Novus Pontificus Maximus Diabolus - Petrus Romanus - Decepticon Megatron. Optimus Prime shall be amongst us anon.

The End!'

Now, as far as I can make out, this means that either End Times are immanent or Transformers 4 is going to be really really fuckin good.

Friday, March 8, 2013


If I was the law I'd make it against the law to not obey the law and then I wouldn't make any other laws except for that law and I'd enjoy the confused and worried looks on all your faces. 'But Judge Fugger', you would plead, 'what is the law we are not supposed to break?' And I would sternly and loudly reply 'The Law!' and say no more. I'd throw the odd person in prison for no reason and watch as everyone tried to figure out what these people could have possibly done to break the law. You'd all be repeatedly going over the recent activities of these entirely random people in the hopes of figuring out what the law is but it would come to nothing.

Then, eventually, I would reveal what the law you are not supposed to break is. I would announce it on a national telly broadcast. I would inform you all that the law that it is against the law to break is the law that it is against the law not to know what the law is. Then you'd all realise that you are all lawbreakers because you didn't know what the law is and so broke the law. Confused? Yeah, well fuck ya! You're going to prison!

I would have everyone arrested (men, women, pensioners, kids, and babies) and thrown in prison for aaaaaaaaages. And then the cops that arrested everyone would have to arrest each other until there is only one left and then he'd arrest himself and go into a cell and then he'd be followed into the cells by the prison guards, the last people to be incarcerated. Then the last prison guard would lock himself away and hand the keys out through the prison bars to me. I would be in possession of the keys to all your cells and I would take them and throw them into a furnace and have them melted down and then I'd fashion their molten form into a crown and put it on my head.

What do you think of that eh? Oh, and one more thing, I'd have the closing minute and twenty seconds of the 1812 Overture playing full blast on a 24-7 repeat cycle over the prison tannoy system and I'd run around the corridors outside your cells crashing cymbals together. You'd never sleep again. Never. You'd be deranged by the time I decided to let you go free. Completely driven mad. That'd fuckin learn yiz. That'd fuckin learn yiz not be breaking the fuckin law, ...whatever the fuckin law is.

More laffs soon lawbreakers!

Wednesday, March 6, 2013


(pictured: Ryan Tubbs, great fella)
Jesus but the Late Late was great last week. Did you see it? It was super. Lovely indoctrination to be had. You can't beat a bit of indoctrination in these difficult times. Bill Cullen was on. He's had a shite time of it. He got the sack and loads of his family died and he was mauled by a bear. I think that's what he said. I'm not sure but I think that's what he said. Maybe he didn't. I wasn't really listening. That's the thing with the telly, you don't really have to listen, you just kind of let it seep in. So I'm not sure if Bill said he was mauled by a bear. Maybe I just made up that bit but it doesn't matter. It's all pretend on the telly anyway so you may as well join in. That's being interactive. Everything is interactive these days. It's great.

Anyway, Bill was saying he wasn't going to let the bear incident get him down and then the house band did a medley of songs from the album Stations of the Crass on their Casio keyboards and then this girl came out and she was in business like Bill. She was loaded but she liked giving to the poor. She was on The Secret Millionaire where nice rich people weigh poor people's tears and give them money depending on the heaviness. They should scrap taxes and fund everything that way, that's the message of the show I think. It's great. Bill loves it. Bill remembers when the nuns scrubbed out the hospital jax 24-7 and not a word of complaint but everyone wants wages these days. 'Ah well, so be it', says Bill. 'I'm off to fuckin outer space anyway so yous are welcome to it', he says. Bill is going to outer space in the rocket Richard Branson bought with all the money he's making off kids' hospitals in Britland. I wonder will Richard ever be on The Secret Millionaire. That'd make great telly. Everyone would probably recognise him though. He's very recognisable. Tony Blair with a beard basically. Maybe if they blinded everyone before he goes out and about. Then he could weigh their tears and give them money to get their eyes fixed. Everyone would be a winner. Especially the telly. The telly always wins in the end.

There was a lovely ad on during the break in the Late Late. It had this old lady making her grandson's football team a heap of sandwiches and it said 'AIB, we're all in it together' and then the show came back on and Tubbs was speaking Irish in a Dublin accent for the laugh. It was a pretty good Dublin accent considering he's never met anyone with a Dublin accent. He's probably heard the accent in documentaries or on Fair City or Youtube. It was funny anyway, like when the gang from The Republic of Telly mock skangers from certain areas in Dublin, Cork, and Limerick that they've seen from from the windows of their cars.

Tubbs did a great job with the presenting overall. He's really coming along. I think he's doing his leaving cert this year so fair play to him for being able to remain so focused on the cue cards. I wouldn't say it's easy for him. I'd say he has to study a fair bit. He's a lovely lad but he doesn't seem the brightest, not bright in that way anyway. He's a great fella for keeping the nation happy though. He has telly intelligence. He's in-telly-gent. (Ha! See that? That's funny.) He's great for providing inspirational chats with people like Bill and that rich girl. He had a golfer on too and he had a trophy and Tubbs says to him 'that's some trophy' and the golfer says 'yeah, thanks'. Then Tubbs asked him if anyone he knew died or if he'd been attacked by an animal or anything and the golfer said 'not recently' and Tubbs looked at him as if he was kind of a prick. That was my reading of the look anyway. I reckon Tubbs thought your man wasn't earning his keep. He had no story to tell. He wasn't overcoming anything. He was just practising his golf and winning trophies.

Anyway, Tubbs finished the show by saying 'let's hear it for the Pope' and then Dobbo from the Six One came out and led everyone in a decade of the Rosary. (Dobbo was just back from Rome where he was interviewing the lads about the Pope packing it in. 'Will God in Heaven be happy with the decision?' he asks a cardinal and the cardinal says that God won't mind too much as long as the next fella is as lovely as the last.) Then they had Holy Communion. One for everybody in the audience. And then they phoned a fella and gave him an Opel Corsa.

Oh yeah, it was great telly last week because the Late Late and RTE were getting the nation back on track. I was feeling it, I really was. Did you feel it yourself? It was like electricity. It was like gentle electricity. It was like having the Holy Ghost come into the room and blow, ever so gently, on your balls. It was a lovely feeling. A feeling of delightful expectation. A feeling of good things to come. We've taken our knocks but we still have the national broadcaster to serve out dollops of the old indoctrination to make us feel better.

David Begg is on the Late Late next week. He's going to be playing Peter Sutherland in a game of charity Swingball. The money raised is going to a little fella from Kinnegad who was born with an arse for a head. He's a great lad by all accounts. He was on the Today With Four O'Clock Show or whatever it's called and he farted Amhrán na bhFiann out his mouth/hole. Great stuff. He might be next in line to present the Late Late if they can get him fixed up. Super telly. Lovely indoctrination. Lovely lovely indoctrination altogether.

Sunday, March 3, 2013


The cadavers of the future rise from their beds, not yet dead, to face the day ahead. They wash their bodies and slide into their pants and skirts and blouses and shirts and slip on their shoes and eat something. They leave their homes and go out onto the streets of Ambivalence.

Ambivalence is an average sized town that resides on the borderline between the boroughs of Abominable and Abundant. There are a lot of things to like about Ambivalence but there is more than enough to hate. It is a town of contradictions and restrictions and no restrictions. In Ambivalence every good day is a bad day for someone and every bad day is a good day for someone else. It is a rare occasion when everyone is happy at once. So rare an occasion as to be non-existent and you don’t get much rarer than that. What Ambivalence has, it’s one constant, is a status quo. Ambivalence is as good and as bad at it gets and that is about the best the cadavers of the future can expect. 

Those that run Ambivalence are as crooked as crooked can be and those who complain about them are as crooked as they can manage to be without getting caught and going to prison. Not much makes sense and people rarely mean what they say. The cadavers of the future don’t worry too much about the future in which they’ll be cadavers. They leave a lot of messes for future generations to clean up, just as they have been left a lot of messes to clean up by their predecessors. Leaving messes and the required infrastructure to maintain these messes without turning the whole thing into a total mess is the Ambivalent way. That is the status quo. What more can you expect? It’s pretty good when you think about it, unless it seems really bad. It’s up to you really. An optimistic outlook is generally considered preferable but it isn’t compulsory. There is no rulebook here. Well, there is but those that adhere to it won’t be winning the game of Ambivalence. The rules of the game are to work around the rules whilst claiming to be sticking to them. To actually stick to the rules is naïve and naivety is the cardinal weakness in this town. The more naïve a cadaver of the future is the sooner in the future they are likely to become a cadaver.

When the cadavers of the future eventually become cadavers they are buried in a big cemetery on a hill overlooking Ambivalence. Tributes are paid to them and nice things are written on the stones that stand at the heads of their graves. The best of the worst is emphasised. A man who evaded paying his taxes his entire life is remembered as a good father and a man who was a bad father but paid his taxes all his life is remembered as someone who always paid his dues. This is the way it is in Ambivalence; most of the cadavers of the future prefer to look on the bright side and rarely acknowledge the dark. It is considered impolite to consider the dark so the dark goes unconsidered but everyone knows it is there. The cadavers of the future are both the bright and the dark and that is what makes Ambivalence tick. But you aren’t to go mentioning it. You aren’t to go saying as much. To point out that Ambivalence is a town that could only exist with good and bad in equal measure would be to point out that, although things will never get worse, things will never get better. Such an acknowledgement would lead the cadavers of the future to despair. Not many could handle the fact that they may as well change the name of Ambivalence to Limbo and that the only guaranteed progress is the progression toward a place up on the hill. Under a stone with a nice tribute to you written on it.