What does it mean: the concept of wasting? A waste of time, a waste of potential… Is there some force or god or blueprint or supernal intention that determines how things should turn out, before things turn out differently, so that we might claim to have wasted them? It’s like there’s a dimension of action both parallel to and preceding the dimension we call reality, and something occurs in that ur-demesne which a twinning existent on our side of the glass must…
Yet what determines the scope and form of destiny, the boundaries of potential? Don’t blame us for the way we rough-hew our ends; blame the divinity that shaped them in the first place.
But there was no first place. Unless it is to come, there will never be a first place. So I say, let’s make one! for the notion of primacy is an achievement in the science of absurdity, on account of the fact that we live an eternal recurrence. Because the cycle will not permit any beginning, and the madness cannot stop but only change, our goal should be to summon forth the Big Freeze.
Those first three paragraphs were put there just to scare off potential readers. The real entry starts here.
It’s supposed to get super warm today, like 15 Celsius. That’s warm for winter (I write in mid-February). So I’ll try to go on a bike ride and walk at the park again. This nice weather makes me think about the current idea of “climate change,” which used to be called “global warming” but I guess that phrase lost its flavor so they rebranded it. Everything is about advertising nowadays. By sheer coincidence I just glanced over at our free local paper that is lying on the sofa (I own no pets to occupy that space or to shred the news) and there’s an advert at the bottom of the front page, whose brag starts in all caps: “SERIOUS CARE. SERIOUSLY FAST. // Expert Care by E.R. Physicians at // The Urgency Room.” So apparently they also rebranded the hospital’s emergency room, to make it seem trendy and stylish. It works for me: I wanna go there right now!
Truly though, health care for profit shivers my timbers.
But back to global warming, or climate change. Right now, it’s a polarizing topic. People on the left hate it and those on the right love it. At least that’s what my boss assured me, when I asked him about it last month. My boss is relatively apolitical – here’s what I can gather: When he says the lefties “hate” climate change, he means they consider it a looming terror that humankind should endeavor to assuage or fix pronto; and right-wingers don’t exactly “love” global warming—they just aren’t yet ready to commit to a long-term relationship.
But in my attempt to translate my boss’s wisdom while portraying both political sides with fairness, I realize that I probably just made murky water murkier.
Now I regret even mentioning this subject, because I have nothing much to say about it, and any thought that I venture to share can only increase my already record-low approval rating (300% of earthlings want me bad); I’ll therefore embrace this luxury. Since it’s normally really cold here in Minnesota, I am thankful that the evils of climate change allowed me one nice day; but if this day comes at the price of some farmer’s entire field drying up, then I’ll gladly return the nice day and ask for a refund.
For you can’t have crop circles without crops. These critical phenomena, also known as crop formations, are enigmatic patterns and pictures that fringe theorists suggest were authored by outer-space aliens. They might be giving us indispensable advice.
I hope I don’t sound too flippant about the demise of our haunt. (By which I mean Earth.) I really do want this globe to remain habitable and fruitful for as many exuberant forms of life as possible. That’s why I’m neither attempting to provoke another Ice Age, nor praying for Yahweh to melt Antarctica. Unless Atlantis is under there, ’cause that might be interesting.
Raising children helps you to care about the future of this Hell, I assume. That way, you don’t fall into the trap of equating your own death with the end of the world. “When Hell dies, so do I; and once I’m dead, Hell is no concern of mine.” That’s what some fools think. But how is it that you find yourself a fleshy being inhabiting Hell at present? Did you agree to this, ever? Isn’t it a mystery how you materialized? Why do you sense pain in your own organs but not in the organs of others? Is it because of the boundary between beings? And isn’t death defined as the transcending of that boundary? How much of this is in the control of the individual? What if…
I’m simply trying to say that we should care about the future of all creatures, living and otherwise, because accord is funner than agony.