Hm

I think I finally know why I so detest children

on the surface, it is a feeling quite like watching National Geographic- particularly the monkeys or gorillas, and the infants that cling so pathetically to their mothers (mournful, swollen things) while the alpha male father charges about cocksure and virile and obnoxious. It is the feeling I got today when, sitting on the bus, I saw in front of me a man carrying his little two-year old daughter- before boarding the bus, at the interchange, the same little girl had been bawling her brains out ('wo yao wo yao!') and I thought at that moment 'if I were the parents, I would beat her brains out'. Seated, the girl became a groggy little monkey brat so vulnerable and helpless, it reminded me of monkeys or gorillas and how much they irritate me. I looked at the father, stroking the girl's hair, rubbing dirt from her face, and I thought 'how animal it all is', this business of making children, like chest-beating or shitting territorially. 'Look at me' he seemed to say, offspring clinging to his singlet, 'look at my sperm'. 

I try not to be so disparaging when I look at children, but I can't help it. People reproduce too much, as if all of humanity weren't black and dirty and tiring enough, people keep on coming and coming. And these children, for what they're worth, they go through a moment's cuteness, and then they become vile little screeching things, and then they learn to talk instead of bawl, and they combine both where convenient, and mouth off and act intelligent (precocious children are the worst of the lot) and then they grow up some more and become noisy schoolchildren on buses, screaming, gloating creatures with burgeoning senses of what hurts others and what feels good, and then it's downhill into adulthood- teenhood is just adulthood with far more stupidity and less power to wreak havoc on the world, and by the time he realises what's happened, he's made more and more and more, chug chug chug and we wonder why the world's behaving the way it is. 

and then at the end of it, I think all this might be denying some hidden truth, like I know it's a niggling doubt at the back of my head- I look at children and the breeders that cradle them, and I think, maybe, I detest them so because I can never have one, or can never want one.