We are but dust and ashes. Dust and ashes collated together and slowly sifting silently screamingly apart. Everywhere, flora flourishes and greenery grows yet slowly their metabolism slows and finally father time and mother earth conspire and chill the earth entire with a frostfall most dire and makes of Harrison a liar for the sun doesnt come because this is Iowa, and instead comes the clouds, instead comes the dread-ful dire gray clouds covering the sky as bodies are covered by shrouds, and heaven knows the streets will need plows. And all this but a reminder that time (gather ye rosebuds while ye may) is fleeting, and despite all the world's Mr. Keatings the poets are nevertheless dead, and though a tear or three may be shed, another rises in their stead even as another flower rises after its death, but keyword, another, not simply meaning in this case a copy, but an Other, an entity not as the entity before. So aside from the bullocks about a circle of life it's a damned trick. We are but dust and ashes, and after us there will be more dust and ashes in different configurations.
So stop wasting time on deliberation and damnation and frustration and fix our problems NOW goddamnit, because a whole world of Other doesn't need our fight to fight or our bothers to bother, and doesn't need our forgotten hopes and cherished nightmares, and doesn't need the foul machinations of the bloated demons in their flesh and blood lairs. Perhaps I am saying doom, just spreading some gloom but the world needs doomsayers and dragonslayers. They're getting bigger everyday and their fires burn deeper as their self aggrandizement seeps farther and farther into our subconscious minds through passive bombardment of our senses with a thousand different sentences that all end with different tenses but whose aim is the same, to win the game, to invade your brain and to fill you with the shame that they have lain at your appearances, as you suddenly become not skinny enough, not filled with god's own vim and vigor (and certainly not if you're a ++ or - - match) and not full of enough fear of god (beneficent overlord though he's 'supposed' to be), and you haven't seen your doctor often enough and you can't please a woman and your hair's run off your head like an avalanche and you are not orange enough of complexion today, and when you see your reflection you are lost in introspection of lost youth and shattered self image..
Thank God, (Only Mr. Christian God please, this is Amurica, and Gawd Blessit) there's such wonderful products and gizmo's to make you feel less full of the hate for the You that has grown from ashes and dusts to be a beautiful human being capable of thought and the creation of things that were not previously of this world, that has developed creation, and even stories that explain the creation of Creation, but then has even created things to make him hate himself. And who successfully uses this astounding ability to create problems that last beyond themselves that inflict their damnable influence on Others, like crippling debt and war crimes. The dance has to end somewhere, the orchestra's tired and the obbligato is now obligatory and all-encompassing, having fallen from its baroque independence. And thus, the Downfall, be it Milton's rendition or the modern story arch, the Downfall is inevitable and fast approaching. More dust and ashes will rise from the fire of its crescendo descent into madness, and a different world will rise again, as from Rome, as from Constantinople, as from the steppes, as from the sand and rivers of Persia, as from the Lion's of the ever sunny Empire as from the USSR. as from every single new flash in the pan of time that follow nothing but endless iterations of the same conflagrations in different configurations but nevertheless ending with 6 feet of the deep dark earth, or 2100 Fahrenheit in a small firey box before being scattered on the wind.
So what next? To admit that we are nothing and no one but the changes we leave upon the face of the earth for Others to be affected by. And to therefore inevitably conclude that we must be the change (as has been said) we wish to see in the world, as backbreaking and hard as that might come to be, because no new person who we've never met deserves to be landed with a pile of our failure. I know that every other previous generation has been landed with some other generations pile of shit but if we don't stop it now then who the fuck ever will? Do it now, for tomorrow you die.
arete
