For a moment the clouds were an unsullied white, all shadow's silver brightness. Too, the smell of sweet Earth promised looming rebirth — if rushed, so before, "Karmic rightness." These too early timings of scents and Earth colors... ...speak to an arduous future discovered? A "physical" non-mystical? An "impermissible" statistical? Made worse by self-interested —importuning— egotisticals?
Still, birds fly in twos all a' squabble, absolved — What's real for them is enough. On the strength of God's genes they don't find it obscene to play with their feelings. Real *stuff*.
The sky is a veil, the deepest of blues; washboard-like clouds are as harp strings. Strum these for deep chords that the whales can hear; they're listening now as these clouds moan and sing. This song of the Earth who has watched come and go many traces of life — truly more than we know? ...A song with its treble so deep in our bass? It's as over your head as it's up in your face!
This is the world some pretend *understood*. This is the world that we're "taught" is not *good*. This is the planet we sully in ignorance; this is a planet we treat with belligerence. This is a planet infested with parasite; ignorant memes with an odorous blight. Small in all memory, ever shorter in mind, contriving to cheat hapless folk it consigns?
Call me crazy, lacking relevance ... but there's "stuff" in our skies that the man is disposed from! He demures; I wonder why?
Whenever this happens? From our dim hoary past? Then there's something he's hiding, and we find out at last! Like "fossil fuels" to help him keep your neck beneath his foot? See, forget about *new* batteries, preferred you're underfoot.
It's the corporate boys at Burger King, in need of fresh lucre —to live like old kings— though millions will suffer producing the beef that are burgers and fries for your Friday night's *treat*.
These are the guys, then, befouling the temples they've built from the sweat of your brow. These are the guys who've hid away secrets recovered at last, about now.
These are the guys who can look in their skies and *know* they're the favorite of God to survive. These are the guys who are living sweet lives while producing their jealous God's nod I despise!
These are the guys, I entreat, I implore! These are those threatened ...by our own Johnny Ford!
"Heat a frog in water…"
They miscalculated with John — John started to hop before the water got too hot! They had to spank him. This is an easy accomplishment for those without a conscience, those too conveniently conflicted by a misunderstood Machiavelli or misinterpreted Darwin... ...those at the receiving end of a cultural largess they become accustomed to as a right. An errantly justified imposition of the divine right of kings...
That's bat cack! It is by no means a right! This is because it is NOT right, bunky — shallow klasskurtxian swine! Stop any internal dialogue. Don't dare to defend a divine right to me. I'd live to see the last *priest* twitching at the end of a long rope made from the entrails of the last *king*! Precious little hyperbole there, reader.
...See, you just don't get to live in a manner enjoyed by the *nobility* when there is just one person you have to destroy to maintain your *life-style*. Who pays so you can play? The answer to that question will get your mind right again pilgrim. Hell, it's all evil from bananas to soccer balls — through running shoes and a bogus food pyramid.
Living a lie takes its toll, doesn't it. ...Don't argue.
Unappreciated tolls of extreme insentience include the obligatory "driving away" of *those* who are suggested by Dr. Drake's completely shocking, but illuminating equation. That equation makes us suspect! That equation suggests it's us so repellent. That equation implies we're quarantine-able? Truly, our complacent denial of that equation makes us unworthy of the tiniest concern or remotest consideration by *those suggested.* What would we do with regard to confrontation with ourselves, I wonder.
Finally, our complacency will most certainly lead to an eventual despair as we are reviled and left alone to stew in our own toxic, ironically self-inflicted, juices... ...you know? That hell on Earth we seem hell bent upon legislating for ourselves. Verily, we won't be ALLOWED off-planet given our psychopathic monkey-behaviors! Truth revealed <sarcastic circuitry meltdown narrowly averted> at last?
"Bother," said Pooh... ...they may even steer a big asteroid down the throat of our greedy gravity well just to put us out of our obnoxious misery...
Restore John Ford! It'll lessen Karmic impact later on, I suspect.