squeamish

when fun is being had & instant violent disaster intrudes one does not say "hang on wait a minute i'll be right with you on that. lemme just finish my fun. one drops the fun & responds to the violence in some way.

there is a unique & self-defined esthetic in any genre of artistic expression.  certain sympathetic associations are evoked, favored flavors of experience.  predeliction.

some things we decide to train ourselves to like for various reasons.  i had to learn to like bitter things, like beer.  some things we decide we like them and train ourselves to call that thing something we like to do.  not drinking so much for example, learning to think of that hot burny feeling of a muscle stretch as pleasure, the inner me shrinking away from the intensity of the sensation, swooning somewhere inside, that thing, giving up to the pain of the universe, so long its been good to know you.

especially if part of the training involves fatigue to build endurance.  the reward is the conquering of sloth in any given moment.  on to the next challenge.  in a given discipline, in which the terms of success are self-defined.

back to feeding.  there is a utilitarian pleasure factor built into the act of killing things because in the course of vertebrate history it has mostly been if you kill it you get to eat it.  saliva's going to flow.  enough of that kind of luck maybe you get to reproduce.

it is possible to get inordinately fond of killing things, known cases of animals killing things for the fun of it.  rogue dogs, part of hyena culture perhaps, something humans can interpret as sin.  kids at shallow pond, catching pollywogs and throwing them up on a rock to die, many as they can catch.  someone thought up the idea, some are going along, some are competing with each other to catch the most, one likes to squish them in his fist, some other kid is watching them die on the rock.  over there is another kid looked and walked away, another crying in a corner wishing it was not happening, maybe someone tried to break it up and failed, out there no one is noticing any of that.  things humans do.

anticipatory digestive juices with the deer in the sight.  delicious falling down in darkness go boom as the thing is hit and events proceed.  if i got it i go boom inside, the pride balloon swells, i did it.  deliciousness awaits.  it can get to be a favorite thing to try to do.  in the ordinary way of it of course it is mostly quietly waiting, but the successful climax can become a favorite thing to do.

and humans can monetize and purify the desire away from its original function, the killing separated from the eating.  the wierdo cutting up animals, the rich person going to a resort to kill birds dumped out of a box with a shotgun, spanish style bull fighting.  just to see them die.  makes them feel good about themselves.  special.  uniquely in touch with their roots.

at that level the discomfort, pain, fear, death around the predator are part of the mix that is the joy of eating.  a glutton would seek a surfeit of those violent emotional condiments.  an esthete would seek their refinement.

what about in primate cultures where individuation has allowed the emergence of individuals who do not like to kill?  they make their way in society by other gainful activity, someone else gives them meat.  how did that happen, they emotionally turn away from the basic kill-eat sequence, the social system finds ways to keep them alive & reproducing.  why?

they provide different kinds of fun.  processes that satisfy and do not involve killing and eating.

that basic element of pleasure though: its ok that you die because i'll live because i'll eat you.  every kind of pleasure element is some harmonic of that.