Saturday, September 11, 2010

...One Finger Salute...


You gaze upon the vastnesses of starry, starry nights... see washed out points of light-polluted... symbols... of your fright. Then, sensing but a fraction of the vastness truly there, you pray its existentialness won't put you to its dare.

Though, proceed into that "darker" space? Why, your fraction's even smaller, despite (because!) you're seeing more? ...Enigma growing taller! That "space" is huge, immense, unknown. Its girth is ever larger. Its length and breadth accelerate, and its not a disobliger.

Space, plus time and surface area! A wealth of all potential! A wealth of what's required for the human not essential. The lesson is: no limits for the perspicacious mind! The individual's paramount, and SHALL NOT BE CONFINED!

It's there are found perspectives of a billion trillion ids! If you've thought it? It has happened, friend, and has happened as it did! And much, much more WILL happen than is thought of in those minds who inhabit our shared multi-verse... quickened hugeness — hoary time!

There is darkness which transcends George Bush, or Hitler — even Stalin! There are miseries undreamed of in the foulness of the fallen. Despair so thick it runs in veins of toxic waste it dreams ... reflecting all the misery of shrieks and moaning screams...

...But balance is equality so "the inverse" also happens! There is truth and light and sun washed right to complement its lesson. There's the loving scent of leaves of grass on a million peaceful worlds, a touch of silk —so cobweb sheer— on healthy frames unfurls. Unclouded and so unafraid... . never "screwing for percentage," they are living, laughing, loving, and they know a sweet advantage.

Like its fiction in a "StarTrek," or a "StarWars"? Love abides. This means: feeling good is honored when it's felt with humble pride. This means looking out to see new works as lasting... without sin! This means achieving all their dreams AND satisfactions found therein!

See, here's breathing free with honor in a world they help build. There's completeness for that *spot* within... you love it when it's filled! They respect the individual, the key to their success! So, they live in lucent Edens they construct, but I digress...

Garibaldi, something like him, lives his life of looming failure; his "Captain" takes a sacrifice to task... ...Anything can happen on a million billion worlds! Dr. Drake can only tell you 'cause he's asked.

Drake's more than just a WAG, my friend; he's conservative as hell; he is science très myopic... ...but he's got a tale to tell. See, he qualifies veracity that *others* do exist, could watch us span potential ... watch some of us resist... ...Could be looking from the shadows some avoid in abject fear... ... go beyond the jealous envelope one maintains and labels: "queer."

We profit from our darknesses? We hasten from the light? We live our short depressing lives in disrespecting spite?  Earth is but a point in space... and cursed with infestation? A cancer rages in her flesh; it's humankind's gestation? Those self-aware must wonder... "...will we meet our test"? Will we wallow in our toxic filth or rise amidst the best?

Will we screw for best percentage like Ms. Ripley once observed, and grind ourselves beneath our heel unrepentant... undeterred? Or will we work to meet these *others*, grok a history handed down, though it crumble proud foundations of old systems non-profound?

I'd like to think we're brave enough to face our craven monsters, though these mosters be ourselves, this chance we should not squander.  We are poets not pretenders, we are languages of paint, we are writers and we're song-smiths... we aspire to the saints!

It does little good and much bad to maintain that these are not ...precipitous... times.
On the one hand we look into untroubled skies with a good clearing breath in our collective chest — remarking that it's a grand time to be alive ... on the other hand — well, the other hand is empty... empty and cold.
Worse? It is a hand entirely soiled. See, the vast majority of individuals on this planet are passing their squalid days très miserable, at best... discounted by a psychopathic western civilization as bigoted as it is arbitrary and as wasteful as it is self-consumptive.
Culture would seem to eat its young after dehumanizing, criminalising, and otherwise short-sheeting them. ...It's not your friend.
We feel this on levels underlying the brave fronts we put up during the day, holding this tenuous *thing we call reality* together in gnashing teeth and scratching nails. Some of us are able to hear the screams of those who fall to the wayside, or under foot, in this mad dash to covet some suggested satisfaction; we smell those ground up for grease to lubricate the lifestyles of a dwindling few; we see the disrespected staggers of real people suffering their nutritionally induced retardation; we feel the hopelessness, despair, and anguish of a MAJORITY of INDIVIDUAL persons who inhabit an insignificant and brown tinged, if blue and white, point in space...
I think it explains the popularity of "Titanic" memes — themes of increasing frequency for us as a singularity of concrescence approaches; that ship a metaphor for the *impossible* occurring; a complete and absolute destruction, even disappearance, of the very ground you stand upon; a sudden plunging out of sight into the black, high pressure, and terrifying unknowns of soul death and corporeal dissolution.
Maybe we go out with some blustery passion, or not — but go out we do? The slide to crushing conclusion is complete for both?
I stand as round shouldered and vulnerable as any, but I square those shoulders to hoist a one fingered salute to any fate that sweeps down on all of us, or just on me. I'll face what's true, and make it work, if I'm able! Or not.
The salute, an existential reality of occurrence, remains.

Restore John Ford.