Our Beautiful Apocalypse

A glacial whirlpool, beautiful but deadly. A living dagger to a glacier as its life force is drained away. Happening every day, across the planet.

Methane bubbles waiting to break the ice. Once we get a bit warmer, all sorts of gasses will be released and tipping points reached across the board. Our end will be collective.

Greenland and the clouds around her. Which will change every day it gets warmer and warmer, and more ice melts into the sea, until another tipping point is reached.

We walk on thin ice, loudly.

Two Roads Lay

I delved deep into the vast photo archive that is my hard drive, growing ever larger by the day, searching for the next step, as this blog is an ever going series of steps, one to the next. And yay, is not this life as well? Anywho, I divined two roads, leading in different directions, each with merit and hints of providence. I pondered overlong, then realized I could go all Gordian Knot on this jam and roll with both. For all things are possible on the Tubes. RAmen.

Old lovers dug up from the sands of time. Dust and ashes is true enough, as the Bible says, since we are made up of dust and ashes from Supernova that produced the heavy elements that make up our entire world and everything on it. And assuredly we will return to this dust and ashes, just like our entire world will be reduced back to dust and ashes with the Red Giant phase of the Sun.

We are dust and ashes given life, given time to move, and think, and be, however brief.

And while we dance and sing today, consider ALL the people that lived before - like this couple, circa 30,000 BC (not this picture, just for example). A guy and and a gal in love, trying to make their way in this crazy world of saber tooth tigers and weird ass CAVEPEOPLE (Neanderthals), among many other perils. They were just like you and me, and no doubt shared many of the same hopes and dreams, however distantly removed. For you, me, all the people ever to have lived, stretching backs hundreds of thousands of years of men and women falling in love and fucking, bringing forth the next generation of people, as dictated by the genes. Sex is why we're here, and what we're here to do. Love is the engine created by evolution to foster this sweaty endeavour. And lust. And probably the desire to party, for by the party one can bring forth the sexy time sure enough.

Mathew Stafford, QB of the NFL sporting concern "Detroit Lions". Good team. Good QB. Megatron rules. But from the looks of it, frat boy jock douche. But such is the way of things, the way of the genes. Proof of fitness is guaranteed to attract the sexy time and the sexy time is all the genes ultimately care about - everything else is a means to this end: To Bed. So enjoy your time in the sun, Mathew Stafford. For time's sandpaper will find you too, as it will find us all, and grind us up into Pink Himalayan Salt. That's Knowshon Moreno above, as well. F'ing Fratboys!

Also too, how about a snake orgy?

That's some hot snake action, amirite?

Guns for Peace (Occupation), Freedom (Terror)

Wry global political humor, don't you know? I root for the UN, and especially armed UN missions into troubled areas of the world. Why? Because I want to see a One World Government and a planet mostly united in peace and harmony. Instead of spending trillions on war and death, we could colonize the solar system and expand beyond our wildest dreams, Lords of the Seas, Lands, Air and Space. We would be unto Gods.

So I kinda get why the wingnuts are always all "hurf durf black helicopters", because the UN is our best shot for now at a World government that can function. And they don't want that for their small, frightened ways. And that's their right, and so we struggle on, tribal factions all across Earth spilling blood and causing so much strife and carnage, holding us back and keeping us scared and angry. Alas!

Guns have become the tool of choice for when these conflicts turn violent. Has there ever been a more destructive tool in terms of lives taken? The sword, maybe? Sharpened stone?  Guns are so slick and sophisticated at what they do, why they exist: Deal Death.

Can violence ever be good? Are there valid reasons to kill another? An age old question, I suppose. The Super Hippy in me wants to say no, never. Violence can never be good, by definition. But the realist in me scoffs: What if someone(s) has come to burn down your house, steal anything of worth, kill or enslave your family, and then ride off to do the same to some other poor, innocent souls? Wouldn't it be "good" to stop them and aid the greater weal?

Each person has to decide for themselves.

Above is Subcomandante Marcos, former College Professor, Poet, and Revolutionary Spokesman for the Zapistas in Mexico. I don't know if he's ever used any of those bullets. But I doubt the Mexican Government thinks he's cool. Does that make Marcos good or bad?

Just words, just as guns are just tools, and what matters is how you use them and your true intent. Everything's just itself and it is only we humans that give anything meaning. And we all should remind ourselves of, frequently, we're all subjective creatures, influenced by myriad factors, and prone to illogical, emotional acts. And so meaning is a point of view. Right? Like good or evil.

So the wingnuts say: Guns don't kill people. People kill people.

Pioneer, our immortality

Say hello to the piece of art - the poem, the story, the epic of us - that will last the longest of any piece of art. In fact, it's likely to last far longer than humanity itself. The Pioneer Plaque, conceived and implemented by Carl Sagan and Frank Drake (of the famous Drake Equation:

It looks wicked complicated, doesn't it? But it's not really - look it up. This is not the place for equations!).

Anyways, look:

The plaque is made of solid gold, and was mounted on the inside of Pioneer's legs, in order to protect it from the solar wind and space dust. For reals - it's abrasive! Anything is, really, over millions of years.

There's the story, by the way. Designed to relay as much information about humanity and Earth as possible in such a small space. Also to note - the size of the spacecraft on the right is proportional to the size of the naked humans.

Imagine! Can you imagine NASA trying to send an image of naked people to space today? Ah, how we've progressed. Anywho:

Mr. Sagan with the actual plaque, in front of Boston City Hall, beautiful monstrosity that it is. I used to smoke cigarettes to the way back right there, and I've previously posted this picture:

This wondrous display of FREEDOM! takes place on the right of City Hall above, and that's the Old State Building at the end of this corridor, which, hilariously, was the scene of the BOSTON MASSACRE, featuring the wonderfully named Crispus Attucks - the first "martyr" of the Revolution. Ironic, right?

Anyways, now that I type this all up - nicely, I think :) - I realize I might have done a similar post many, many years ago. And while I certainly strive not to repeat any pictures, ever, unless for effect, in this case, what the heck! Behold the glory that is dialectic free association. Man.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem

A modern classic. You know that saying "I  don't know art, but I know what I like"? Well, I like this. A lot. And it's clearly art! Its all in there - click for big and take a gander at the wonder. It's our cartoon world - the very "real world" of Washington and Hollywood - the two capitals of modern fiction.

Anyone know the artist? I don't.

Another classic. I may have posted each of these before - sue me. They're great. This painting reminds me of the cliche but awesomely kick ass poem (one of the few in existence, believe me!) by William Butler Yeats, "The Second Coming":

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Awesome, right? Like a horror movie. And I think it's sadly appropriate for our times. As with everything, there are forces that wax and wane, there are times when the forces of Progress are on the march, and times when the forces of Regression are, and most of the time there is an interplay between these forces. Right now, in America at least, there is great progress on the raw demographic level - we will be that Melting Pot we were all taught America is supposed to be. But clearly - watch Fox News for a few moments, or listen to Rush - the forces of Regression are fired up and have pitchforks and torches in hand.


The question is: Can we withstand them, outlast them, and defuse them? Only time will tell - I won't care (never do ["lack all conviction"]!), since from the mountaintop it's all pretty much the same. But I'm rooting for Progress nonetheless.


Also, too: Slouching Towards Bethlehem is the name of a great - perhaps the greatest - episode of Angel. If you've ever thought about watching the show but weren't sure it was for you, check this Season 4 episode out. If you don't like it, don't bother watching anything else.

a poem eternal

Here's good old Carl holding what will most likely be one of the longest lasting artifacts of humanity. This plaque was attached to the spaceship Pioneer, currently heading towards the star Aldeberan. We lost contact with the tiny ambassador in 2003, and so now she's destined to silently float forever, unless there's an incredible stroke of bad luck (like .0001% chance). We're talking hundreds of millions of years, flying black out into the deep darkness.


As an example of what makes Carl the man, he and some fellows put together this plaque made of pure gold, which tells a little story about mankind. Here:

It is of course highly, highly unlikely (like a .0000001% chance) that anyone(thing?) will ever read this - that would assume aliens, our some futuristic, peace loving human explorers of the far distant future. But does that matter? It's a wonderful expression of the human spirit, of awe and wonder, dedication and curiosity. It's what makes us human.

For all our toil and grandeur here and in the days to come, it's far more likely all life will be wiped out on Earth than anything will ever happen to this plaque. All kinds of bad things could happen easily enough and, poof! All gone. But this golden plaque is safe as the safest house you ever knew. And thus, a poem eternal, floating in empty space, waiting for SOMEONE! to show up to the reading, forever...

Also, Boston City Hall - pretty futuristic on the outside. You'll be dissuaded of the notion, however, if you are ever unfortunate enough to visit an office inside.