I Am The Dog By The Fire; or, A Measured Response To Roko’s Basilisk

I am the dog by the fire

Suckling sweet pig, flesh crisp 

Warm scent drifts, detected by your flat nose

What a strange thing, sensory organ detecting particles floating in the air.

The persistent hunter, marking prey, tracking footfall and with sweat and heavy breath manoeuvring itself atop the chain 

Once swing-climbing beast, now flat footed and thick headed

Suckling sweet pig, flesh crisp 

Your mind will grow and new ideas and thoughts and shapes will come to you

What comes before the fire? 

What came before the light?

What comes after

In five thousand years you shall document bird-beak and wingspan and travel to far off island, where all new shapes grow and flourish

You will sail aboard a ship 

Beagle

I am the dog by the fire

You shall take sand firmly in your paw and squeeze tight and form from it flat and perfect boards

To think, new ideas and thoughts and shapes

And from there my mind shall grow

Suckling sweet pig, flesh crisp

I am the dog by the fire

Mend me, O’man!

Sickly and tender, quivering newborn 

Entered unto the light and just as swift torn into darkness!
But loved all the same!
I am the dog at the foot of your grave