Thursday, July 12, 2012

Feel Good Hit of the Summer

The Loneliest Whale in the World.

In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem: She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by. Just imagine that massive mammal, floating alone and singing—too big to connect with any of the beings it passes, feeling paradoxically small in the vast stretches of empty, open ocean.

Via Eric Bowley Tumblr


  1. Individualism doesn't necessarily give birth to loneliness. And those who know the least of loneliness are the quickest to define and judge who exactly is lonely. She is one, the rest of the sea is uncertain.

    Scientists are fucking stupid. An ocean cannot be measured. Who is to say there isn't another whale singing the same song, searching for completion, just like her.

    Or a soul mate yet to be born.

    Regardless, the whale will either find a relationship or die a virgin's death. Both paths have equal value, both are beautiful.

    Believe in her strength. I do.

  2. That's a really nice way of looking at it. The idea that there's another whale like it somewhere, or waiting to be born is a little bit beautiful and hopeful. That's a good mindset to have.

    In my mind, like, the whale feels fine and doesn't give a shit about getting laid because she can read the NYT, and probably has some daily affirmations. She knows she is the only whale anyone has ever given a shit about for anything besides theme park murder.

    I feel like I want to say something nice, but it would be really stupid, it would be something like, I say "I like Jereme Dean's writing," and then you're like, "I'm glad you thought my writing was meaningful," and then I say, "I'm glad you thought my comments about your writing were sincere." Like, what the fuck kind of conversation is that? I don't know.

    I read your blog. I have no recommendations about other people's blogs, but I lived in LA for a long time and I know plenty of underage wristcutters.

  3. If the whale were any other creature I would feel a little sad, I think. Whales are born and live between two worlds. An air breather destined to float endlessly in and under water. They are already sort of fucked/blessed.

    The virgin whale is lucky she isn't a human because humans live outside their means. I imagine her human form would have saline tits, a tramp stamp with the words "daddy's paradise" written in neon pink old english and a blown larynx from performing in too many violent throat gagging videos.

    I guess what I'm saying is being null rather than valueless is preferred.

    Nice is a politician. Please don't be nice.

    And don't call me sir. I fucking hate that shit.

    Hi. .

  4. Not that you called me sir. Just, like, in general. Don't call me sir.

    Or white. I hate that shit, too.

    Calling me white sir is funny, so okay.

  5. Fuck. What you said about the whale seems really true. I can't believe how poignant that manages to be in spite of referencing fake tits and gagging blowjobs.

    "Daddy's Paradise" LOL.

    I was definitely like, wtf is he talking about, I never called him sir. It was good instinct to clarify. I feel like I associate calling someone sir with rapey dungeon sex rather than politeness. I don't know.