Mark Twain made a toast to a room of drunks (himself included I’m sure) about babies
I have nothing against babies personally but I’m the last person to celebrate a life. It must be a retard-writer thing, I only see events as a flash-forward of doom.
It would be funny if babies never got older, and had to suffer it all while being only a foot tall: alienation, boredom, manic attacks, trying drugs, cutting their arms, wearing black lipstick, overeating and later getting screwed by the banks, the peddlers, the swindlers, the corporations both evil and less evil, the bad food, the losing numbers, illnesses, the Red Chinks planning world takeover, broken baby marriages.
There’s nothing worse than a baby cheating on another baby.
The very few good events of life have been repackaged and resold thousands of times, so when they happen they feel like a reenactment of a goddamned commercial.
“But you can’t know the future.”
I know enough.
On a spiritual level, a baby is a soul who fucked up and chickened-out, running back to earth because the Infinite scared it. Some argue that karma only allows the soul to see the paths they deserve, e.g. a door to higher realms would look like a wall.
Babies are just future tragedies waiting to happen. They should soak up the love while they can, if it’s available. They already know this.
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