dolores666's photos with the keyword: Evolution

Poor wee thing, faced with choices that who knows where they may lead. Ah, evolution… Such a tricky thing, innit. One may evolve into, say, a beautiful, fierce polecat ferret like Sredni Vashatar or, heaven forfend!, Yoav Galant. Yikes! :-(

So time went on. And on. And centuries went by followed by millennia and those by aeons. Eventually, after a decent period of time had elapsed, and the bugs and the tardigrades had settled, the Mother of All Frogs decided it was time to have another go at diversity on the planet. So She emerged from Her private singularity and brought forth a couple of tadpoles, just to try and see what would happen. The tadpoles initially were very confused, poor mites. The bugs were delighted; they thought that the tadpoles were dead cute and whattahell, the more the merrier. The tardigrades were not quite so sure. “Well, at least they are not mammals…” they concluded. We wish them all great happiness and prosperity and endless grooviness. Also, better luck, and, above all, a vastly higher degree of soundness of judgement than we evidenced, obviously.

As the monkey said to Maggie Thatcher a few years ago, it was hardly worth the evolutionary effort, seeing how the human race has turned out. Look at us, will you. Puny, greedy, fearful going on for paranoid, cowardly and subservient to grovelling slavish levels, cruel to the point of sadism, complacently ignorant and wilfully blind to anything we don't like to see and more often than not as ugly as sin (both inside and outside). I know that amongst all these jungles of nightmare, deserts of gruesomeness and labyrinths of utter piffle flowers called Bach and Vermeer and Austen have blossomed, but for every Goya, a hundred thousand Elon Musks, for every Rosa a million Tony Blairs, for every Beethoven a billion Netanyahus, have scourged this poor beautiful planet and turned it into a diabolical stage for a Pantomime, become a Punch&Judy show, become a murderous Grand Guignol. The wise Proto-fish tried to warn the Dinos, back when still there might have been time to take the right forking out of the many possible options, but did the Dinos listen? Did they bollocks! So, here we all are: the sheep and the goats, the slugs and the ferrets, the nearly-fully-human and the WeThePeoples. And the cattle and the butchers both, the lost lambs and the good shepherds, the victims and the torturers, the cannon fodder and the field marshals. The wholly innocent and the guilty-as-hell. All in this together, in this Last Waltz Macabre, before the music fades and the lights are put out and the great cosmic MC announces the end of the party, the end of the line. Crewe train stops here, ladies and gents. All change for the final void. But, hey!, no need to pout. It is what it is and what will be will be. Stick to the Mehitabel Protocols and keep Becketting on best you can, be it only to annoy the rightful heirs of that recently-dead Kissinger cunt. The Time of the Bugs is nigh, me dears. Have some Madeira. And grin and bear and give Them the finger. Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do? I want to go to Birmingham And they're taking me on to Crewe, Have a totally spiffing week. And heaps of mutinous love, honey for breakfast and Beluga whales by the cartload. And un po' di mu', of course. www.youtube.com/watch?v=frAEmhqdLFs www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEJ9HrZq7Ro

You know what it’s like. You’re peacefully trundling along the paths of evolution when suddenly you come across a crack in the continuum. And then everything goes wonky. And then next thing you know is that an adventurous amoeba decides to grow arms, or legs, or both. And then, next chapter in the saga is...people! Oy vey! :-( Still, one must go on, even though one can’t go on. Have a spiffing, gap-free week end, wot sooooon come.

Strong wind destroy our home Many dead, tonight it could be you Strong wind, strong wind Many dead, tonight it could be you www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cb04PK_oTlM Ah, if only… But, but… Hope springs eternal. www.urdupoint.com/en/world/croatia-to-withdraw-its-forces-from-nato-in-e-1455572.html sputniknews.com/20220125/croatia-to-withdraw-its-forces-from-nato-in-event-of-russia-ukraine-conflict-1092505242.html www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-60099924 www.theguardian.com/world/2022/jan/26/nato-allies-policy-russia-ukraine-analysis

Some more silly shenanigans for the weekend. Have a lovely one. PS. And now you can see why Orcas sometimes curl their dorsal fin in such a funny manner. In memoriam of a remote ancestral whim.

Here, just for a giggle. Behold and marvel at the frivolity, the love of frippery burbling through the veins even of exceedingly early life-as-we-know-it. No wonder we evolved into the puffed up bunch we now are. (Said she, endlessly brooding about her choice of earnings for the day.) Have a splendid weekend, look out for intermittent singularities spewing knockoff Chanels and have an apposite po’ di mu’. www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQZmCJUSC6g&t=56s

That’s how the cookie crumbles: the more complex the system the more things that can go wrong with it. I ought to know, given the prodigious amount of things that are going kaput in, on, out and about my complex vile body. I think I’d gladly emulate the little chap in the doodle and become a single-cell organism. The only drawback I can see in this otherwise amiable state of being is that I wouldn’t be able to operate a mouse or a tablet and therefore no doodles. Then again, that would make some people very happy so it would sort of even things out, more or less. I love happy endings. And bad poetry. When I was a small amoeba Cuter than the queen of Sheba If trod upon I would split Slide, regroup and reknit And go back to puff my cheeba. When I was a small amoeba And I didn't have a liver I could get drunk every day Armless, merry, free and gay And my pods woul’n’t even quiver. When I was a single cell Life was easy, life was swell Now I am eukaryotic Drifting around quite neurotic And my life is one pure hell. If you know what’s good for you You’ll stay put and not be two Cleave to your monadic charm Never try to grow an arm Don’t become organic stew!

Evolution3. There you go. It’s all abut trial & error, and recognizing you’re going about it the wrong way, and being flexible and adaptable and all that jazz. Salud!

Meet the next heirs to planet Earth. I’m sure they’ll make a splendid job. Better than we did, in fact, I daresay. Coming soon: ClownWatch 33. The Perfect Solution 2.0 And to keep you in giggles: www.rt.com/business/485757-us-dollar-toilet-paper

Waiting for the Second Coming, or wave, or whatnot, have some rather vain microscopic organisms. NB. The pangolins are pure GMCA (Graphically Modified ClipArt)

And here is No.2 In the dicey field of evolution, shit happens indeed. I think we were it. :-)

Here be depiction No.1 (of a set of two) of the joys and agonies of evolution. Feel free to associate it to the latest crowned-pain-in-the-butt hysteria. Or to the engineered success of that King of Gaga, Joe Biden. Or any other subject of your affection and/or detestation, it’s all the same to the little ones.

Change is not always everybody’s’ cup of tea. As Douglas Adams pointed out, somewhere in the HHGTTG, some people think that it was a very bad idea to come down from the trees; and some even go as far as claiming that crawling out of the sea and developing legs was a seriously bad move. Still, evolution happens, whether we like it or not. Although, sometimes, listening to Theresa May babble her incomprehensible rubbish, or Donald the Orange Duck foam at the mouth about…well, anything, really, I have an urge to join the reactionary camp and cry “Let’s go back to the Primeval Soup, for Bumba’s sake!” Sometimes I also have this itch to run out into the street shouting “Cry havoc and let slip the perritos de la guerra!”All things considered, I much prefer that last urge, even though the body will not allow the putting it into practice, by any stretch of the imagination. Again, small mercies…

I still love. Many things and many people. There. PS. La Bella Mallorquina is the ineffable Maria del Mar Bonet, of course. Have a sample: www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUl6sXHtTwQ And: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mz7gOjpKEEA

Birthdays! The Shoggoths are ten years old this autumn. They burst into my life at the end of a particularly interesting October in 2008, evolved from a Japanese frog that then became my third Cthulhu. But the Great Old Dreamer subsequently acquired a more traditional shape, with tentacles and claws and wings and all things properly Cthulhian. The Shoggies were in them very brief early days cast in the role of minions of the catnapper of R’lyeh, but almost immediately became self-regulating and took a life of their own, which event delighted me no end. Mind you, it helped that I had re-read At the Mountains of Madness again and finally made up my mind that the Shoggoths had had such a bad press, up to that moment, because H.P. Lovecraft was barking up the wrong tree, the silly old xenophobic bugger. To cut a long story short, the Shoggoths were re-cast in the part of heroes. My kind of heroes: freedom fighters, rebel slaves, free radicals; a regular bunch of protoplasmic Maroons one and all. They’ve come a long way since then. They have established their uniquely personal world and taken over mine. They have made art and music, written poetry, developed the Shoggy Brotherhood Tango and invented their own highly unorthodox version of Sumo wrestling. They have morphed into ill-behaved sub-atomic particles, starred in remakes and alternative versions of several movies, including Battleship Potemkin and Spartacus and posed for famous paintings like Velazquez’s Las Meninas and Goya’s Los fusilamientos del 3 de Mayo. Rosie has even written a sequel to Lenin’s What Is to Be Done? They also triggered a stampede of Lovecraftian spoofy pastiches (collectively renamed Myffos), so that not only Shoggies emerged but also Cthulhus, Shub-Nigguraths, Old Ones, Deep Ones, Yithians, Mi-Go, a Mother Hydra, a GorgoMormo and a Yog-Sothoth or two. They have been the best compost my mind’s garden has ever known. They continue to grow and multiply, with no signs of exhaustion in sight. Happy birthday, my rubbery darlings. Scribe’s Note. As well as the customary birthday card, I break my own rule of never posting anything longer than the mini rants that often attend my doodles and I’m posting a link to the rejuvenated version of an uplifting, stirring account of how the beloved monsters came into my life, all those ages ago, in another time and another place and when the wench I then was is now not exactly dead but certainly closer to the grave that she’s ever been. Sic transit gloria Gorgon. :-) The story so far. www.gorgs.co.uk/gossip-column Plus: The full graphic version. www.gorgs.co.uk/a-brief-history-of-shoggoths-first-cycle