Sunday, August 29, 2010

...Imagination's Ship...



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It's time I grab the silver keys to my ship "Imagination," and fly out to the darkest... ...deepest space. Outside our solar system? I look back on —and can listen— to the mewling... facile ravings of my squalid little race.

Oh, we hold ourselves so grandly in pretended understanding, while presuming we're the bee's knees of creation. Complacent, hearing screams, and discounting righteous dreams, we wallow in a morass sans cessation.

I turn the key... it's on! We SHRINK down —almost gone— this to satisfy the physics of our punch to airless spaces. Then space —so quick— surrounds us, and in awe we are confounded as the glimmers of a billion stars entreat us from their places.

Turning this'a way and that? We see the planets, eyes like cats; Jupiter and Mars approach like brothers. Quick as 'that' they're gone, we're so far out... so far along, adrift now —can't phone home— we search for "others."

We think about new races in these everlasting spaces — volumes within volumes... eggheads say. Thinking obviates mere prayers and I wonder what we dare, regards a blue-white living marble where we stay.

There are *others*, out here with us? Do they watch —withholding trust— enigmatic and not coming when they're called? Do they lurk, just out of view, make their contact, it's their purview...Do they wonder why our engine, then, seems stalled?

We are a messy puzzle, so our watchers watch their sleeves; compared to them we're still a'crawl, abused on calloused knees! Perhaps old before our dirt had even crumbled from its rock, they knew planets in collision, third tier *science*— knew their "block"!


Too, they're interested in something — we might be novel, think of that... Though, perhaps the way we're interested in a monkey or a cat! I hope they think we're beautiful, as when we're bad? We're bad... It's when we're good we're really good... they might be gratified or glad. Arts and loves and musics are the source of satisfactions... Is it that they find so pleasant culled from chaos and malefaction?

Could it be that they're surprised by our peculiar little antics; for them surprises few and far between? They thought they had it figured out, then heard from us — what we're about? In many years of records ... oh... ...the *things* they must have seen...

They watched "Titanics" going down with all the *rabble* locked below-decks!  They saw the *function* of a *just* and *honored* Klan. They watched us filling prisons —persons culled from our society— while we taught our trusting kids to *understand*? They watch us hate our sex glands with our strictures, codes, and rules. They watch us blaming kids for riots, them we bullshit in our *schools*! It's a madhouse they're perplexed by, it's a dance of fever dreams, a chaos we're presenting — here we laugh and there we scream.

They see us give away our stuff — effect a grander plan. They see us paint and write, and sculpt in light on mountains, living land. They see us slowly waking up to find that we are not alone — getting over our embarrassment (...that will go right to the bone!)...

They see us rescue unjust fallen when we think to lend a hand. They see a teacher teaching truth to kids, sans "agenda," understand? They see compassion where it suits us and I think they know our curse, that we're only at our best when challenge... takes its turn for worse.

...Or maybe we're just useful ... like the laboratory rat, to help them with a problem that they're plagued with — is it that? We've got something special going, of that I feel assured, or they'd do like us and whack us... ? ... and they could not be deterred!

...I'll sit out in the blackness of this dark between the stars... far "brighter" here than does appear as close to Sol as Mars... I'll teleport you back, yourself (...it's *pop* and you're back home...). Out here I'll sit and watch awhile... and still be less alone. See, we're the proof they're out there; nothing happens "once"... we exist, a constant! There're others.  Call it bunce.

 Well and truly a mere pipe dream in a fable I've contrived, to keep at bay despair presumed by castles in the sky?  Though, consciousness pervades desire, and what we think comes true; Morbius discovered that, but late for peer review.

We better HOPE they're more ethical than we are.  Sneer not at the film reference... it's a classic for a reason with roots deep in Shakespeare, one can read.  Squeezed from between the fingers of an arrogant, officious, authoritarian, and gauntleted "rationality"... believe it and it is so?  Make that so.

Restore John Ford!

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