Tuesday, May 07, 2019

Tradijinae's Grace



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It's time I grab the cyber 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... febrile 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 tap the keys... 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 potentials 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 we betray.

There are *others*, out here with us? 
Do they watch—withholding trust—
enigmatic and just not coming when they're called? 
Do they lurk, just out of view, 
hide in sight, it's their's in 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 it's when we're bad? We're bad... 
It's when we're good we're really good... 
...they might be gratified or gladdened. 
Art and love and music 
are our source's satisfaction... 
Is it that they find so pleasant 
...culled from chaos and malefaction?

Could it be that they're surprised, perhaps... 
our "peculiar" little antics; 
for them surprises few and far between? 
They thought they had shit 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 with imprecision— 
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 crap, 
...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...

Still, they see us rescue fallen folk
when we think to lend a hand. 
They see a teacher teach the truth to kids, 
sans "agenda," understand? 
They see compassion where it suits us 
and I think they know our curse, 
we're at our best when life, as lived, 
takes that awful turn for worse.

Too, 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!)...


...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!

...So, 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... 

nothing happens "once"... 
we exist, a constant! 
There're others.  Call it bunce.
Now. I'll teleport you back, yourself 
(...it's a *pop* and you're back home...). 
Out here I'll sit and watch awhile... 
Somehow, be less alone...
 Well and truly a mere pipe dream 
a fantasy contrived, 
to keep at bay despair presumed 
by monsters we've despised...  
Though, consciousness pervades desire, 
and what we think comes true
Morbius discovered that, and...
...we're his peer review.




We better HOPE they're more ethical than we are. Kinder. More Humane! Too, sneer not at my film reference... it's a classic for a reason with roots deep in Shakespeare, one can read. 

It speaks to arrogance and an officious, certainly evil, arbitrary that even a billion years of shining culture won't erase. A guard must always be kept. It must never be forgotten. Power will corrupt. It needs checks and balances. Absolute power, absolutely.  

But, yes. Squeezed from between the fingers of an arrogant, officious, authoritarian, and gauntleted "rationality"... we live on to "believe it and it is so?"  Make that so... only with a little more foresight than Morbius... 

...But then, how? How, remembering the awful imperatives of the absolutist's corruption. ...A bridge crossed when we come to it. What else do we have but our expression of same. Read on! 

Restore John Ford!

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