Only Silly Cats Smoke Pipes

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Why is a raven like a writing desk?

He didn’t look happy.
I have stuff to worry about, he said.
He then furrowed his eyebrows.
Sh*t, he said. Fuck*ng sh*t.
This went on for a while. And then:
Oh no, he said. Oh no!
I said.
Sh*t! he said.
He was really into it.

When children are young, they learn what it means to be inside or outside of their home. Food can be inside or outside of the oven. Dogs can be inside or outside of their kennels. It occurs to them that “inside” and “outside” are terms with wide applicability. So what is outside the universe? There are monsters, hungry monsters, which eat little children who ask too many questions. And rightly so, children are horridly spoilt now, new car, caviar, what did I get as a child? Chicken pox is all I can recall.

My religion says you have to conclude that your own ability to conclude things is faulty, she said.
That’s the only way any of it makes any sense.
I conclude that your religion is faulty,
he said.
She concluded that too, but she concluded that her conclusion was false.
So you believe in it too? she said.

Life’s not about politics, nor religion, explore it a little before you label it…

Wiggly Loopy Wavey Why-ness-ness

I want to know what lies outside this fish bowl, but fear that if I jump out, I’ll surely drown. Time is pressuring me, pushing me, nagging me to do something. Every tick is a tick gone, every night a taunting reminder of yet another day’s pass. Time filters throw my soul leaving a husk of why-ness and unfulfillment. Every minute a hell and every thought is a sin. Soon I’ll be belly-up in this bowl, and the flushing chain will be pulled. And as I whirl down a drain, I’ll not be thinking of time, nor why, nor meaning, but simply, I didn’t sign up for this….

I don’t like this ‘being alive’ stuff. Every sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell infecting me. I do not want to feel, but feel I do, and it will undoubtedly be the death of me…

To Kill a Mockingbird

David, David! What’s that you’re doing with your sister in the basement? Your Id is your ego, which then is influenced by the oppression of society, society being the misinterpreted ego of mass. Some daydream’s foreplay conceived a subjective superego, and now translated by an orgy of craven clay-brained conformists, man is ruled.  “And the pup bit the hand of God, and God saw that the pup was evil, and in forty days and forty nights he drowned the entire litter, for God is a gentle, patient, and loving God, amen”. God never changes his mind, unless he changes his mind, God is everywhere, God is, oh, hang on, Able has gone missing again, I’ll ask Cain. I must tell him that it is bad to eat the apple that gives him an understanding of what bad is, and then he can eat cream and honey.
Once upon a time, a book of ethical guidance was required as part of a healthy diet for the developing disposition of humanity. Now it is the day before tomorrow, and humanity is past the setting of dawn, said progression is due a surge. The cultivating of the third eye has begun. The Roman Empire is unified, scaremongering children has concluded, and there is no longer a savoury sin to basin wash your odiferous brow. Leave the auriferous pipedreams for them that hold the pitchforks.

Trouble at’ mill

Numerous born and countless dead, in a world of dreams and nightmares, it’s crowded in here. Put the milk in the cup first, your divergence is the testimony to your madness. Pick a cat and provoke a fight, hands on table, lips pursed, and, go! Retreat, then, into the hours of night, which is your deluded haven, “be polite”. Society is a symphony of logic, but only on paper, it burdens the creative individuals that can potentially generate the spark, which becomes the flicker of light in a room of darkness. The weirdoes become eccentric, the eccentrics become geniuses; don’t underestimate what you cannot evaluate. Time continues regardless, you don’t, so ‘heads up’, judgement day is a comin’, accept the leaflet, and donate the two pounds. You know how to whistle, don’t cha Steve? Heaven is paradise, but for who is the fantasy tailored? Oh, and duck! Ha, you actually believe something sympathetic can willingly conceive a concept such as Hell? Lies! Lie more times than a cheap Japanese watch. God, you are submissive to the oppression of mass, fear not the Spanish Inquisition. Existence is a toss of a nickel. The fizz is in decline, gulp it quick or slurp it flat; you can’t quantify life, don’t squander it in trepidation. They do do though don’t they though? Patriotic vitriolic potatoes in uniform make horrific world leaders. The field is overflowing with sheep, thank you Mr Jintao, don’t ask Reagan for help; he has a cold. Four horsemen with an arrow of time, good show Friedrich Heine, shame about Thor, must have been looking for North. Welcome to the Oscillatory Universe; are you ready for The Crunch? Look in my bag of entropy, there’s a Big Rip; you can blame Caldwell for that. Uh oh, St John is on the punch again, oh look at who’s the messiah; “it’s all who you know”. It’s getting hot, no cold, HIV, HMV, oh mind your step, there’s a Meteorite there, just push the red button and it’ll all go away. Say what you see Mr Chips, “fat lady singing?” and so our survey says *uh uh* No sorry; death is not a form of death. Just row your boat down the stream, life is just a dream. And in 2012, when you’re up to your knees in snow sunbathing twenty-four foot under the sea, raise your glass to the invading aliens and say “chin chin old chap”.

The Evil Monkey in the Closet

Materialism is a burden on your disposition, like baggage of ‘this is me’; like vomit in an ASDA plastic bag with one of them paper miniature umbrellas that you usually find in cocktails. With the aforementioned yoke carried, you’ll fail to fall through the self-sieving that is, what is, the development of constructing a constructive experience of your experience, err, hang on. Your glass maybe half full now, but there is no escaping the fact that the glass is also half empty. Happiness is a temporary distraction. Every distraction and every obstacle is a cause of concern and an obstruction in your will, that is, by you, labelled ‘evil’. He whose desires are in difference in comparison to yours is wrong; he who blocks you from your destination is ‘evil’. Revenge is wrong and unnecessary, unless said act is committed by you, apparently, by your innate logic anyway. Man serves himself, and his neighbours loathe it, as it interferes with their self-interest.
What is ‘evil’? Do you think, really, that the universe has any concept of ‘evil’? If in musical chairs you lose, then you lose, and that is ‘life’ as they say, whoever ‘they’ are, presumably a bunch of haughty, overpaid, overfed, triple chinned hermits sat round a table inventing job titles.
Praying to a God for a ‘get out of jail free card’ is simply just being arrogantly delusional. You are naturally polarising your perception by naively ranking yourself above standard on the goodness scale, stop it! You are not God, kinda. The dichotomy of good and evil is either a lack of knowledge or a refusal of acceptance; crowning one evil is the equivalent of “ask your mother” in this dynamic world of bigger houses and noisier cars, where charity is collateral, and love a token unity.
Rivalry is the mother of development, but development is then the product of envy, thus unjustifiable outrage is the frustration of man and the architect of war, thus rendering the ignorant monkeys forever belligerently unsettled.  Ok, to some, life is a game, and to win a game, everyone else must lose! True, but, unlike the duration, life is not relative, define winning before you throw the dice.

That Boy Needs Therapy

I bloody hate harps, and discussions on the calories in Philadelphia light. I don’t want to be rewarded for my inhumane ignorance and arrogance by a creative version of Mussolini. “Is this banana flat?” pondered the monkey on drugs “let’s publish a seven hundred thousand word essay about it” said the other monkey, which had an empty wallet to fill.
Now do that tie up, otherwise you’ll trigger the disapproval of our leader *points at sky whilst doing a woo noise* No; you refuse too? Then I’m afraid expulsion is the only answer, it’s the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane!

To Poke A Dead Bird

Advertising, political propaganda, and uninformative dogmatic newspapers! ”A bag in the river may have contained The Cheshire Cat” of cause it did, it may have also contained a handful of self-adhesive tapeworms doing the cancan whilst wearing tutus. Can you get a tutu for a tapeworm? Oh yes, skip the cancan bit because that’s perfectly self-explanatory for a legless tapeworm!  Who said it was legless? Alas, unless the idea was injected into the insentient regions of the void that is your mind, you will not conceive the notion. You hear what you want to hear, but when combined with what they want you to hear, they can sell you Trebor Softmints to cure testicular cancer. Like Dr Hoffmann of Stuttgart and his leech farm, like a headless budgie to a blind kid, like New Labour, like Lambert and Butler lights, Hellboy computer games, Sunny Delight, and Push Pops, these are not stilts for midgets but a plug-in air freshener for a conservative voting aborigine living in Scotland. A talking parrot is not much better a source for wise advice as is a cracker from a country that thinks failure is the mother of success!  Don’t read the dribbling whining from stargazed decrepit charlatans at the Daily Mail. Don’t fritter your time on politics. Don’t buy a Henrietta for twice the price of a Henry. And don’t ever, ever, poke the dead bird with a stick. Do you have a mind of your own? Use it, or someone else will use it for you.


I have something you want” she said, “I don’t know what it is you have” he said, “I know” she said, “That’s why you want it.

Wink wink nudge nudge, kiss kiss bang bang!…… Now what? The natural drug, that is, and every concept of, what is, and held by you as, enjoyment, is, forever being spoilt. Satisfaction is a cycle of surging boundaries that ultimately renders your present fulfilment in swift demise.  The value of money, like your value of anything, is relative, and thus, immaterial and irrelevant to the structure of your overall ‘happiness’.  You think tomorrow, you will be happy? Well sorry; but you’re as likely to see that tomorrow, as you are as likely to see the Loch Ness monster milking a rocking horse.
Happiness is an addiction that can’t be fulfilled, sure, you can be ‘happier’, but any child with an imaginary pocket full of chocolate stars can tell you, nothing is great, if something is greater!

I’m an Island

The mind is eternal, infinite, and spiritually potential. Unlike the encompassing body, it exists outside space and time. The body is not eternal and infinite, but instead decays and is webbed into the delusional reality matrix of now and here.
My reflection incarcerates me, envelopes me in a nauseating consciousness. Why? It nauseates me because I’m no longer free; I’m no longer infinite. Infinite means having no limits, and having no limits means beginning and ending nowhere, encompassing everything everywhere always. Therefore, from the point of view of an infinite being, nothing exists but it; it is totally, absolutely, and unconditionally everything and all that there is. To an un-reflected me, there are no others, not even the concept ‘others’. No ‘me’, no ‘you’, no ‘we’ no ‘they’ no ‘this’, no ‘that’, no ‘these’, no ‘those’. There is only ‘I’. In the entire Universe, there is only one identity, and it is ‘I’. It is that, no matter how many things may seem to you to exist, from the point of view of an infinite me, there exists only one thing, in only one place, at only one time, and all of that is and always is wholly itself, I.
By definition, I is mind and mind encompasses, or includes, or is, everything that there is, and therefore there exists — there can exist — no thing, no where, and no when, which it is not. Whatever is, it is. That is what being infinite is; living in the mind, means: Having no limits of any kind. No beginning and no end, no fixed centre and no circumference. No boundaries of any kind, neither in time nor in space, or in any other dimension; no specific form, either physical or conceptual, no name and no shape.
In order to make proper use of a mirror, a viewer must be able to distinguish himself or herself from everything else reflected in the glass, not to mention from the glass itself, and the room in which it is located, and the time and the space in which the reflection is occurring. It’s this reality that troubles me, bounds and limits me to self. I become no longer infinite; I’m dying.


There are one hundred and twenty five billion galaxies in the universe, each containing over a hundred billion stars spiralling aimlessly. It is here on one of these stars the floating corpse of a planet labelled Earth is staged; infected with over six and a half billion bewildered glorified monkeys. Every orbit of the star this godforsaken rock completes the monkeys run! Vomiting incoherent dribble pointlessly into cellular phones and purchasing high definition televisions, so they can observe other monkeys perform this pointless ritual of socializing. Obtaining bigger, faster, louder vehicles and bigger greater houses in the hope of attracting a mate, so they can spawn additional monkeys like bacteria and infest further still! On and on like a never ending circus performing, always performing, meaninglessly. This irrational, illogical behaviour is madness!
Yet despite this madness being apparent they chose to ignore. Their innate morals are inherited and their justice system dogmatic. They criticize law and complain unconstructively then follow regardless. They conceive concepts like evil to label sly motives and natural obstructionism. They put their faith in the penning of past and claim inconsistencies the work of a devil.  They claim a dice throw justifies a saint. They claim to be righteous and virtuously good, despite an egotistic anticipation of contentment galore. Then they condemn a theorist and start a never-ending war.

About Silly Cats

Started in 2008 the blog has since then been discontinued... These are a selected few archived blog posts starting with the last post first. Silly Cats

Silly Cats Smoke Pipes

Exclamation of contempt occurring without definite aim, reason, or pattern. This is the home to self-eradicating gluttony and feigned psychological-gratification. Get some red plonk, cigarettes, and some cake and succumb yourself to the fabricated sensations of pleasure galore. Don’t squander thoughts on hangovers, diets, and personal hygiene. Spend your days instead intoxicated and aggressive. Then die young of an overdose in a hotel room surrounded by prostitutes, in a poetic symphony of self-pity and artistic contempt. Label every man, woman, and child a parasitic monkey, shout "how dare you", spit out your fag in disgust, "Good day sir!" and slam a door!