New update schedule after that long sabbatical. One new review every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.
Tigers:
A tiger is, for me, the proof that machines can never match nature. I don't believe that any amount of ultra-sophisticated AI or technically perfect robotics can recreate that cautious, intelligent death that glows, dead and yet alive, cold and yet flaming, in a tiger's eye. That green and black nexus, concentric circles that paralyze you, even through vertical iron bars a primal fear runs like hot glass through your nerves as a hundred thousand years of evolution scream your death knell and you stand, ramrod straight, and know your murder. You hear those claws, long, cruel, purposeful (they're retractable, after all--no need to alert you) ripping strips of skin off whatever limbs you throw up in a last, pathetic defense as thirteen feet of orange menace tear into you. A dozen razor teeth surrounding four large ones, each longer than your pointer finger, all propelled by jaw muscles stronger than your entire upper body. But a tiger is more than all this. A tiger is beautiful. A tiger has a purposeful, almost serendipitous grace. There is no other animal in which beauty and death are so perfectly in balance. To look at a tiger is to know that there is a God, but you aren't his favorite creation.
Tigers: 20/20. Fearful Symmetry.
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2 comments:
That last line was pretty nice, gotta say.
This post was suspiciously similar to a certain William Blake poem. "cold and yet flaming, in a tiger's eye" I'm almost tempted to ask In what distant deeps or skies/Burnt the fire of thine eyes? "To look at a tiger is to know that there is a God" What immortal hand or eye/
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
What the hammer? Cohen
What the chain?
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