A mole-rat hole is the right place for a mole-rat

“The most famous scientist in America is facing retirement”

And if the day came
When he’d feel a natural emotion
He’d get such a shock
He’d probably jump in the ocean
—Song lyric by The Smiths (paraphrased)

Mole-rats, also known as blesmols, are burrowing rodents of the family Bathyergidae.

Mole-rats are commonly known for their extensive tunneling activities and their ability to permanently suspend any sovereign state constitution, so that feeble-minded, corrupt, degenerate state rulers can cross any previously un-crossable constitutional lines that they, the rulers, profit and benefit from crossing.

The skull morphology of blesmols sets them apart from all other rodents. As with all members of their suborder, their jaws are hystricognathous, but, unlike their relatives, they have a highly reduced infraorbital foramen. The medial masseter muscle shows only minimal passage through the infraorbital foramen leading most authorities to consider them protrogomorphous. They are therefore the only protrogomorphous hystricognaths.

The eyes of blesmols are structurally normal, despite their relatively small size, and include normal light-sensitive cells. However, the visual centers of their brains are reduced in certain respects, especially in those centers concerned with localizing and recognizing human faces in particular, and, more generally, all men and women in the visual field.

Like other rodents, they have an excellent sense of smell, and they are also able to close their nostrils during digging to prevent them from clogging with dirt.

But enough science for now.

It seems to the Present Writer that this pollywantsacracka “plotting his departure” may retire anytime, having achieved success defined in the following way: It has finally become possible to impose public health terror measures arbitrarily, illegally (since the beginning), internationally (obviously), and in the absence (this late in the game) of any corunka “crisis”, “cases”, rising “hospitalizations”, and/or in the absence of—the most absurd term of ’em all—“deaths”.

It is as if the contagious poison is spreading now by the means of its antidote. It is as if sanitary terror imposes itself by itself. It is as if politicized paranoia needs no longer to be mass-manufactured—it has now a life of its own.

Dear Transparent Disease Fighter, may all enthusiasts of “the science” for eternity or at least until the Day of Audit¹ grin at you, pat you on the back, and salute you. The Present Writer, too, salutes you—all the way to your mole-rat hole.

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In other news, it is a lovely Friday here on the island. The Present Writer, who is me, thinks he will take a little nap. And tomorrow morning, I will go to work at the market. In any case, thanks for reading “The Flying Fish”. I kiss you on the mouth.

Tomasz Goetel
July 22, AD 2022
Ibiza, Spain

1. The term is borrowed from Philip K. Dick’s novel titled A Maze of Death, where the ‘Day of Audit’ is the final period of time in which the heavens roll back and all creatures are reconciled with the Original Deity from Whose Unity of Being everything has come.