Being thankful for the progress of those who came before me

[The following entry also includes one BONUS THOT about my knack for slumber.]

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Here's the next page from my book of 287 Drawing Prompts. (The last page appeared just yesterday.) The prompt for this present drawing was "Abandoned ghost town".

Dear diary,

When I think of the progress that humankind has made, I want to sing praises to man. Consider this plot of turf where I now live: it used to be a desert, as far as the eye can see. Nothing would grow here; nothing lived here. But now I have a house, because unknown men who came before me chopped down palm trees and shipped them across the ocean from Hispaniola; then mankind bought iron from Asia to manufacture sawmills, which were employed to cut the logs into planks; and also rivets were made from Russian steel to fasten everything together.

Also I can simply turn a knob on a faucet and pure water comes out. That is very different from the days when one would need to cup one’s hands together in order to drink from a river. And the river was muddy, so you’d need to try not to get any slime in your mouth. But the faucet that I have dispenses a jet of liquid clear as crystal. Not to mention, I own an icebox.

Then they figured out a way to make the desert into a garden. Man dug channels in the river, to divert its flow. This transformed the dry sand into nutrient-rich soil, from which, eventually, thick, healthy grass sprang up, dark green in hue. And purple flowers, and white flowers. The entire landscape was in bloom. And not even the shady groves were dull, because bright orange tygers slept over there — they made that part of the expanse (which was mostly colored lime-green when anyone painted it, because it was covered with ferns) appear as tho it was rhythmically sprinkled with burning campfires. It was almost like wallpaper.

And whether or not there’s a God doesn’t even matter, because, if something bad happens, you can easily interpret it either way: if you don’t believe in God, you can say: bad things happen because we have freedom, and if we wish to eradicate badness from the world, we need to implement a task force of some kind, because nobody’s gonna help us: we must help ourselves — whereas, if you DO believe in God, you can say: the bad happened because [and then fill in the blank with some idea from your theology].

And birth is a beautiful thing because it’s pleasant. The act of conceiving children is nice — everyone knows that — but also the act of childbearing is easy and painless. You just squat down and give birth. Cut the cord and begin to breastfeed. You’ll have another fellow citizen to help with the fieldwork, in no time at all; cuz kids grow up fast. They replace those who’ve grown elderly. And the elderly love them because they feed them — I mean the children who work on the farm bring their firstfruits to their ancestors. Man appreciates his forebears because he knows that they were the ones who invented all the amenities, which make modern life so pleasant.

And when I say that the children grow up & do all the fieldwork, it’s not something that is taxing or difficult. Like childbirth, fieldwork is a breeze. All of our farming implements are lightweight & fashioned ergonomically. And when you plant crops, they grow up healthy and robust; because God sends the former rains and the latter rains. This is in addition to the river, with its irrigation system and seasonal flooding. (The flooding is helpful as well: for the sediment that it leaves behind serves as life-support to every type of plant that is desirable to cultivate.) Man keeps track of the height to which the river has risen each year, by etching a line representing its surface-level upon the brick of my house, which is situated in the center of town, where the Holy Pyramid used to be.

And we have the most wonderful police force. They protect us from all danger. They are selfless and heroic. One time I saw a man smite another man on the cheek. And the man who was smitten turned the other cheek to his aggressor, as if to say: “Try that again, this time on this side.” And a police officer happened to be driving past in his Ford Crown Victoria, so he stopped and rolled down the window and said “Good evening.” (The mere presence of this Symbol of Law & Order was enough to eradicate any further violence.) And, about a week later, I saw the above duo of gentlemen — the one who did the striking, and the one who got struck — in the temple at a ceremony, and they were standing near the above officer, and the officer had his arms draped around both of them. So apparently it took less than seven days for these individuals all to become the best of friends.

Also, in the interim after the above incident, I’ve seen that same officer with those same two men on many occasions together, hanging out as a trio, so it’s not like their camaraderie was shallow or short-lived. They’re blood-brothers now.

What’s the secret, you ask? Well it helps to have good entertainment, and to marry into the family of one’s enemies. I mean that sincerely: beautiful movie stars and great music help to improve morale in a town; and if you ever do actually encounter someone who despises your kind, simply court and wed his sisters: then you’ll produce offspring that mix his kind with your own, and there will be nothing to complain about. I’ve found that this solution is far more efficient than arguing. And let him wed your sisters too, if he so desires. The more the merrier.

I’m also thankful for the fact that we have no crime here. In former times, theft of property was a problem, because the population was divided into rich and poor; so the rich would steal from the poor, thus maintaining the imbalance. But then, one day, a foreign despot entered the city and seized control: He implemented all new rules; one of which was to punish thieves by cutting off their hands and letting them bleed to death. So, after a few fiscal quarters, there were a small number of corpses of rich men lying unburied, right there on the floor of the town’s only supermarket. If you wanted to buy some fruits or vegetables, or brown rice or black beans, you’d need to step over these rich folks’ handless bodies; and the populace found this so disturbing that all the rich people actually stopped abusing the poor. They went one whole quarter with no new deaths. Then Hernando (the despot) had to leave, to go conquer new lands; and he took both of his law tablets with him, so this anti-theft legislation got overturned by default. (I mean, we just went back to having no laws at all.) And yet the thievery never revived. It was as if an addiction had been kicked, and there was no desire to begin the cycle again: we simply remained a theft-free city.

*

So that’s all I wanted to say today. I just wanted to give praise to the accomplishments of all the past humans who have made this life so satisfying.

Yet I guess I’ll add a final word about my own personal contribution to civilization:

BONUS THOT

I’m so relaxed that I end up falling asleep wherever I go. Now, I don’t mean that I suffer from narcolepsy, which, as you know, is a disorder that causes periods of extreme daytime sleepiness and sudden, brief episodes of deep slumber when you least desire. — No, my talent is voluntary and delightful. I actually love to let go of my wide-awake brain, and curl up on the floor like a house-pet:

For instance, let’s say that I am walking past your mansion during the late midafternoon, and I see you working on a project in your garage. You are building a wooden horse. In this instance, I would turn from the street so that I am facing your abode, and I would begin to walk up your footpath. If you were to turn your head and look at me, I would wave and shout a greeting. I would ask you what you’re working on. “I’m making a horse for my grandkids,” you would say. I would note that it is large, and you would answer: “Yes, it’s life-sized.” Then you would tip the horse over, so that I could see its underside: and you would point out that there is a trap door on its belly, which can be opened; and you would show that your horse’s interior is hollow and roomy enough to lodge a grown man (so long as he remains in the fetal-position) & it is upholstered in red velvet. So I would climb into the horse that you built, and you would close the hatch and fasten it; and I would fall asleep. And my snoring would be so gentle and muffled that you would forget about me: You’d go back inside your house, fill out some tax forms, browse the Internet, make love to your wife, prepare a basket of french fries, smoke a pack or two of cigarettes, watch the ballgame; then doze off.

Now think about what we’ve accomplished today: You fell asleep in front of the TV, while I’m still fast asleep in the wooden horse that you built. Your wife might come out into the living room and eat what remains from your basket of fries, then she might take the cigarette out of your mouth (it’s still lit) and smoke the rest. Then she might open the door that leads from the kitchen to the garage, and switch on the light and notice the horse that’s standing there; and I wouldn’t even know that the light’s on, cuz it’s dark inside the horse, so I wouldn’t wake up; then she might turn off the light and go to bed. — Now all three of us are asleep.

P.S.

Here are just two other places where I’d find it easy to nap:

1. At the aquarium store, while the sales-clerk is giving me a pitch about the sturdiness of a certain tank or model. Especially if the carpet is soft in the shop: I could lie down and say to the clerk, “Keep talking,” while I drift off into dreamland.
2. On the battlefield. Our country eradicated warfare long ago, so it would only be a re-enactment of one of the previous wars which we perform to commemorate certain holidays; but it would be a treat to sleep amid all those fake cannon blasts, and all the fake blood and the screaming & commotion. (For it’s as easy to snooze when it’s noisy as when it’s quiet: the thing that tends to wake a sleeper is when constant noise suddenly ceases, or when a big bang breaks the silence: any abrupt change in dynamics is the enemy of us dream-warriors.) Yes, I’d fit right in amongst those myriads of fake corpses.