Michael Bywater
|
Lost Worlds: What Have We Lost, & Where Did It Go?
—
published
2004
—
5 editions
|
|
|
Big Babies: Or: Why Can't We Just Grow Up?
—
published
2006
—
7 editions
|
|
|
Is This Bottle Corked?: The Secret Life of Wine
by
—
published
2008
—
6 editions
|
|
|
The Chronicles of Bargepole
|
|
|
Lost Worlds: What Have We Lost And Where Did It Go?
|
|
|
Is This Bottle Corked?: The Secret Life of Wine
by
—
published
2009
|
|
|
Starship Titanic: First Class In-Flight Magazine
by
—
published
1998
|
|
|
Godzone
—
published
1999
—
3 editions
|
|
|
Bargedole
—
published
1993
|
|
|
Like Brothers: Men and Friendship
|
|
“Melancholy
(1) An excess of black bile, anatomized by Robert Burton, embraced by the swooning Romantics as evidence of their fine sensibilities, now fallen into disrepair, renamed as depression, wrongly attributed to a deficiency of serotonin and cured by infantilizing, self-indulgent 'therapy' and overpriced, addictive drugs pushed on harassed, gullible doctors by unscrupulous pharmaceutical companies which suppress their terrible side-effects in order to pursue their profits.
(2) A crippling disease of unknown aetiology which throughout human history has devoured hope, destroyed lives and, after a period of living death, sometimes relaxed its grip just long enough for the sufferer to summon the energy for a merciful suicide; now, at last, frequently curable by a combination of therapy and antidepressants.”
― Lost Worlds: What Have We Lost, & Where Did It Go?
(1) An excess of black bile, anatomized by Robert Burton, embraced by the swooning Romantics as evidence of their fine sensibilities, now fallen into disrepair, renamed as depression, wrongly attributed to a deficiency of serotonin and cured by infantilizing, self-indulgent 'therapy' and overpriced, addictive drugs pushed on harassed, gullible doctors by unscrupulous pharmaceutical companies which suppress their terrible side-effects in order to pursue their profits.
(2) A crippling disease of unknown aetiology which throughout human history has devoured hope, destroyed lives and, after a period of living death, sometimes relaxed its grip just long enough for the sufferer to summon the energy for a merciful suicide; now, at last, frequently curable by a combination of therapy and antidepressants.”
― Lost Worlds: What Have We Lost, & Where Did It Go?
“Risk assessment is the new religion, the Big Babies'equivalent of the apotropaic ritual, the haruspices, the chicken entrails and the goat on the altar. Where our ancestors looked up at the stars, and spoke with the gods, and went off upon the great and dangerous adventures which would return them to their communities as adults, we, adorned not with swords and quivers but with all the tentative apparatus of our intelligence and our carefulness, look upwards and see, not gods, but improperly secured overhead lighting, untrimmed branches, loose cables, inadequately fastened false ceiling partitions; and we decide not, after all, to go. It is, after all, too dangerous.”
―
―
“Suppose (to take a most improbable example) you decided, or were told and chose to believe, that the world was created by an invisible person who, despite all the evidence that he occasionally disliked us but was mostly indifferent, actually loved us and thought about us all the time. Suppose, piling absurdity upon improbability, you also decided, or were told, and chose to believe, that this same person decided to split himself in two and turn one part of himself into an ordinary person like you or me, and pay a visit to a desert tribe and get himself executed for treason; at which point he performed a conjuring trick, came back from the dead, vanished mysteriously but planned to return and punish all the bad people and make everything nice (though in the meantime, the bad people could go on getting away with it and the good people could go on getting buggered up by the bad people – that is, when they weren’t getting cancer, or run over, or bankrupt, or tortured, or flogged or worked like beasts or raped or killed in power struggles which were nothing to do with them). Suppose you were misguided enough to believe that lot. What would you do? Would you devote all your spare hours to finding someone who would disabuse you of these intensely peculiar delusions, so that you could finally sleep at night? Or would you go, once a week or more, to listen to someone telling you that you were quite right, and everything you believed was true, and, what’s more, if you ever stopped believing it, terrible things would happen to you even after you had died?”
―
―
Is this you? Let us know. If not, help out and invite Michael to Goodreads.

