Still Children

I think the most important social issue is how to keep stupid people from reproducing. I'm swinging the word stupid around pretty aggressively too. I'm too stupid to have a baby.

I mean, I think this is a good snapshot of the human enterprise at the moment:

We all share a planet with limited resources.
The economic myth rules all of us.
The global economic myth is rooted on an assumption of continuous growth ad infinitum.
We all support, through buying shit, companies that are destroying the earth.
We either are ignorant to this schizophrenic behavior, justify our actions with old patriarchal books and their saviors, or we transfer that myth onto technology and think it will save us.

Why do we do the things we do?
Why are we so quick to get married and have children?
Why do some of us unflinchingly never question dogmatic religions?

If you are reading this and you have a child, I love you for the sacrifice you will have to make in order to raise a child that will help the planet more than hurt it. I know you'll try your best. I think raising a child is the most important thing most of us will ever do.

This is a rant. I appreciate the seven of you who skimmed this. 

Sirius

I saw Sirius.

I wonder if I should take him serious,

Robert Anton Wilson I mean.

A cosmic joker.

An occupation I'd love to have...

Sirius is serious.

The star of The Ancients.

It's significance

The synchronicity  

The feeling of a conspiracy 

that the entire universe is

fucking

waiting for me to say "I'm ready"

and my dreams will begin to blossom. 

Well, I am ready. 

I know there is no perfect time to start

and now is all there is

and now I have my chance

to start living life.

The goal know,

remember this

tomorrow.

The Garden, it's fruit, and our knowledge.

Oh, there seems to be a slight perversion 

Between the two whom we find deserving. 

One who hopes we indulge in our pleasure, 

His foil enforces in great measure. 

Who wished we remain apart from knowledge? 

While the other dare take no advantage 

Of the new, naked and helpless children, 

Unless you consider thinking barren. 

He urged we learn, the first Prometheus 

And like was punished for what he gave us 

This small gift also brought us damnation 

Only a few the Whiter will let in. 

But Prometheus welcomes all of us 

To the home his father made in disgust

Parachute

The blood of sons and fathers

had once stained that cloud

that now hugged my mother.

Dad did his best to look proud.

Mom began her forward advance.

Her heart bounced seeing his tears

thought for her, but his mind in France 

smelling blood, their anguish sears.

He really did love my Mom.

Love anew his new parachute.

Her embrace his healing balm. 

Promising never again to shoot. 

What my parents did not know,

Blind surely I am too--

of our prison inside this show. 

Homage to the great Plato.

Why did he fight that war?

Why the ceremony for love?

We’re living stories, slaves to lore 

But not our own, we’re slaves to 

Our Culture’s cult.