Feb Six Thots

Do all men wish they were angels? Do men, when they meet angels, instinctively mumble: “I wish I had feathers; I wish I had wings”? 

And what do worms think of snakes? I believe that worms look at snakes as the perfection of their form. “I’m basically just an intestine without a body, compared to that snake,” mutters the worm; “I wish I had shiny scales so near to one another that no air can come between them, which glitter when I traipse thru paradise.” Yes, the worm is probably embarrassed that his skin is just a pinkish gray color, and that his face has no personality.

Also consider the lizard; or, better yet, the dragon. When a worm meets a dragon, there’s no telling what he might say. His jealousy is off the charts.

The same relation exists between sheep and pigs. Pigs see sheep as their divine completion. Pigs assume that if they pray hard enough, someday they’ll be forgiven for their swinishness and sprout wool from their pink skin, and be naked no longer. 

Now add goats into the picture, and you can imagine that sheep yearn to be goats the same way that our worm above wished that he were a dragon.

But why is it that every creature holds such a simple view of superiority? Why are we all tricked into thinking that, if we could only purchase a fancier garment, we would become a better being? I mean, just because an angel has feathers and wings — does this make him morally maturer? If you affix a forked tongue to a worm and give him six legs with claws at their ends, and allow him to sneeze fire, doesn’t the same wormy soul still rest at the center of this majestic new creature? In other words: Isn’t a dragon just a pile of guts with all the trappings? (The answer is NO, by the way; dragons are truly much fancier than worms.)

And things move in the opposite direction when you consider the evolution from ape to man to god: for the ape is hairy, and then the man is an improvement because he loses his hair; and all aliens are even balder than men, and thus smarter. Spaceships have less prominent tail-fins than old-fashioned automobiles: the finest crafts that fly through the starfield are shaped like saucers: we all know this — less is more.

And nobody thinks that a devil’s horns are a welcome addition to the normally smooth forehead of the non-demonic male. So why do all average elephants envy triceratops? They shouldn’t. We should tell them that we love them as they are, and that we’re thankful for the good cheer that they send us. 

And why do frogs yearn to achieve chickenhood while chickens long for froghood? I say: Stop this madness. Be content with the essence that your Creator afflicted you with.

Here’s what I’m getting at: What if the brain were encased not in the skull but in each human breast? Then, women who are born with big bosoms would be the foremost experts in the science of propulsion, and we would inherit a planet that goes far faster than all the others in our solar system; thus we would win the race.

Again, tho, I must ask: Is bigger necessarily better? (The answer is YES, in the case of planets; that’s why Jupiter is my favorite; but if we’re talking about the contours of the female figure, I love every woman passionately and ignore any defects. All are welcome, in my hotel room.)

Yet why is a heavily armed man more pleasing to his Creator than a man who carries no weapon? Isn’t this similar to the case where the elephants attempted to mimic the triceratops, thus causing a can of laughter to be imputed unto the nonexistent audience? 

I think the reason that whoever crafted this universe seems to favor arsenal over compassion is that he is either a bad representative of his species or he expired before finishing the project. My guess is that we’ll someday find his torso floating in outer space and exclaim: “O! here’s the rest of Ozymandias!”

And is a top-ten rock-&-roll hit the completion of an old gospel hymn, or the other way around? And what does Shakespeare think of sitcoms? Are we headed in the right direction? Also: define “right”. 

I like when people remark “It’s all good.” That phrase calms me. I’m standing here at the crime scene with all my fellow police officers, and we’re investigating the inception of modern America; the Founding Fathers are in handcuffs and we’re reading them their rights. Egads, they own a lot of rights! (Thx for defining “right” above.)

When a dandelion is yellow, it’s objectively pretty. Eventually its florets turn into seeds and blow away to create more prettiness. Each herb is edible in its entirety.

You yourself were born as a member of a community of humans. When you reached a ripe young age, you fell in love with the girl next door. After ringing the bell, her butler opened up. “What’s your name?” you asked. “Devlin,” he answered. “Why do you look like a miniature Cary Grant?” you asked. “I don’t know; I didn’t manufacture myself,” said the being. Then you asked to speak to the homeowner; and the girl came out, and you two hit it off. You took her to a steakhouse: 

The waiter approaches your table, and you note within your mind that this fellow resembles the girl’s butler in every detail: he is filled with wisdom and perfectly groomed. 

“Would you like your meat medium rare or well done?” asks Devlin, the waiter. 

“By ‘well done’ do you mean burnt to a crisp?” asks your date, Clarissa. 

You place your gloved hand over her lips, to silence her insolence; then you address the waiter yourself, saying: “Bloody as hell.” 

The steaks are the best you’ve ever tasted. But I’m not saying that everything goes downhill from this point on; for there’s always 

[NOTE: the handwritten manuscript ends like so, with the word “always” and no terminal punctuation. The author is notorious for beginning works brilliantly yet leaving them apparently unfinished. His oeuvre is a dizzying constellation of abandoned fragments.]