I Long for the Day…

…when the Abrahamic religions are looked upon with the same bemusement as we look upon the Greek, Roman, and Egyptian gods.

According to a recent Gallup poll, only 12 percent of Americans believe that life on earth has evolved through a natural process, without the interference of a deity. Thirty one percent believe that evolution has been "guided by God." If our worldview were put to a vote, notions of "intelligent design" would defeat the science of biology by nearly three to one. This is troubling, as nature offers no compelling evidence for an intelligent designer and countless examples of unintelligent design. But the current controversy over "intelligent design" should not blind us to the true scope of our religious bewilderment at the dawn of the twenty first century. The same Gallup poll revealed that 53 percent of Americans are actually creationists.

This means that despite a full century of scientific insights attesting to the antiquity of life and the greater antiquity of the earth, more than half of our neighbors believe that the entire cosmos was created six thousand years ago. This is, incidentally, about a thousand years after the Sumerians invented glue. Those with the power to elect our presidents and congressmen – and many who themselves get elected—believe that dinosaurs lived two by two upon Noah's ark, that light from distant galaxies was created en route to the earth, and that the first members of our species were fashioned out of dirt and divine breath, in a garden with a talking snake, by the hand of an invisible God.

Among developed nations, America stands alone in these convictions. Our country now appears, as at no other time in her history, like a lumbering, bellicose, dimwitted giant. Anyone who cares about the fate of civilization would do well to recognize that the combination of great power and great stupidity is simply terrifying, even to one's friends. The truth, however, is that many of us may not care about the fate of civilization. Forty four percent of the American population is convinced that Jesus will return to judge the living and the dead sometime in the next fifty years. According to the most common interpretation of biblical prophecy, Jesus will return only after things have gone horribly awry here on earth. It is, therefore, not an exaggeration to say that if the city of New York were suddenly replaced by a ball of fire, some significant percentage of the American population would see a silver lining in the subsequent mushroom cloud, as it would suggest to them that the best thing that is ever going to happen was about to happen: the return of Christ. It should be blindingly obvious that beliefs of this sort will do little to help us create a durable future for ourselves—socially, economically, environmentally, or geopolitically. Imagine the consequences if any significant component of the U.S. government actually believed that the world was about to end and that its ending would be glorious. The fact that nearly half of the American population apparently believes this, purely on the basis of religious dogma, should be considered a moral and intellectual emergency.

– Sam Harris, "Letter to a Christian Nation" (2006)

I Had Forgotten…

…what a truly excellent album this is.

"If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding!"

I watched a making of video on YouTube this afternoon which prompted me to give this a spin tonight. Born of blood, sweat, and tears like all great art, I never fully appreciated the work—and drama—that went into its creation.

This Little Punk…

…swallowed something he shouldn't have that's blocking his intestine and we're now awaiting surgery. No idea what it is that's stuck since we have puppy-proofed the house, but it's been an incredibly long four days for everyone involved.

Because It's True

Spotted scrawled on a university bathroom stall back in 1995 (yes, I wrote it down):

"I love men.  All kinds of men.  I love the way men smell.  I love the way they carry themselves.  I love their hairy legs.  I love seeing their jeans around their ankles, around sandals or athletic shoes.  I love mustaches.  I love the gleam in the eye of a man when he's consumed with passion.  I love a man's nipples; his pecs; his chest.  I love the bush of hair at his crotch and the rivulet that runs up to his belly button.  I love them naked and I love them dressed; I love them wearing a shirt unbuttoned to the waist, exposing the carpet of hair.  I love men's biceps; their tattoos and their 3-day beard stubble.  I love the hair and the smell of man's armpit.  I love the way a man's cock feels in your hand, how it grows from flaccid to erect with merely a touch.  I love foreskin, the way it slides over the cockhead.  I love the way men kiss.  I love men's balls and their butts.  I love their calves and their thighs as they sit, spreadeagle on a toilet, offering you their hard, dripping cock.  I love dog-tags and pierced tits—baseball caps on 25-year old cleanshaven buzzcut college studs driving jeeps, their tan, hairy legs spread wide in shorts.  I love big daddy bears, their hairy chests criss-crossed by black leather harnesses.  Cocksucking.  Jacking Off.  Titplay.  Bondage.  Transcendental male fuck-play."