Studio 54 closed

Just when I was going to post about how useless internet surfing is, Charles happened to post about a website he's found where they are apparently horridly honest. I haven't visited yet, the day is young. However, just knowing about it means we're saved again. Saved from throwing our laptops into the fireplace or the dumpster, whichever is handiest. We can go on posting for a few more days until the big questions return. And questionable it is my friends, don't scoff too quickly.

We've been over this many times, even now it glares from my archives. Before actually getting out of bed this morning, it came to me in predawn, post dream clarity that Visible is right, it is all in our minds. This world, this life, we've dreamed and created and maintain as if we are clubbing at Studio 54. Today, we are in these places, tonight, other places, tomorrow, who knows? And yet, deep down, under the gloss, we know something is wrong, something doesn't make sense. What do we do when something in life does not make sense? Like all good western citizens, we ignore it and continue to do what we always do, confident it will eventually make sense. This method of dealing with a created reality is built into the fabric of our very lives.

This is how our nations handle everything. You can read four headlines on your welcome pages, each one contradicting the next. House prices are up. House prices are down. Employment is up, unemployment is skyrocketing. Recession over. Crisis worsening, we're in the eye of the hurricane between subprime and ARM, or is it CRE today?

Now you ask, is this making any sense? No. Do addictions make sense? No, again. We'd like to know the point, but the point is loathe to be acknowledged. We don't want to kill off our species, so we ignore our overpopulation crisis and the accompanying rise of overmarketing and overwarring, all which denies our prolife vision, a vision not from any religious beliefs or desire for financial gain, but simply from the natural right to life entitled all species. We live, therefore others too must live. There is no secret to the equality of life. That is not an ideology, it is sensory knowledge, Life IS sacred because we live.

All that is wrong, that down deep under the gloss wrong, is wrong because it was never right on a small scale. On a larger scale growing larger, the monster is untouchable. We are doomed because we ignore it. But ignore it we will because this is how we handle everything. I wouldn't exactly call our situation western procrastination as much as a circular void of solution where everything positive is countered by a negative. When a one-fits-all answer is not available, we do nothing. Scanning over the past decade, we have done nothing. We have taken cover online and the issues we discuss worsen. What happens when there is no more web? You don't really know yet, do you. Trust in the way our planet has rotated lately and that will give you some vague idea.

Never again will we have normalcy because what appeared as normal was just another phase of the dream that twists and turns incessantly as dreams will. Glancing at what we know of the other regions on our planet, many have never known what we think of as normal. Western civilization might as well be on another planet for all the lack of similarity in thought and lifestyle. But westerners time for domination is over. Every day our schizophrenia is more apparent along with citizens' Alzheimer's. We go back and forth while going nowhere.

I discovered a used bookstore a while back and purchased a college literature anthology for a dollar. Pre-owned literature is castaway cheap I thought, leafing through tissue thin pages packed with the meaning of life from hundreds of articulate voices, many still living. There I found redemption, a confirmation in print we've always known truth, but choose to ignore it. In this most recent go-around, we blew it with religion. We sent out missionaries to denigrate all not living in our western imperialistic shadow and stole their free will while deifying the corrupt and the mundane. In a nutshell, it is the hijacking of free will that is the bitter root of our destruction. Our worst failing was an abject failure to see all living species as One naturally occurring and naturally maintaining gift born from Mother Earth, perfectly balanced in the Universe to exist and flow with all heavenly bodies and we blew it big time.

The debate today is not whether we will escape judgment day, but will there be another go-around? My vote goes into the yes basket, but next time humans will be left out of the mix. The part of the plan allowing guardians for the species didn't work. The deified corrupt and mundane thought they were capable of more. The citizens don't get along, they overpopulate and steal free will from everyone and everything else. They lie to hide their agenda until it can no longer be hidden. They've become confused and unnecessary, rampaging though the rotten fruits of their labor, trampling the sacred, valuing nothing, having lost all sense of purpose.

After the slate is wiped clean, perhaps archaeologists of the future, if they exist, will uncover our used literary anthologies and see where we went wrong. Inshalla, God willing, they do not ignore our mistake.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

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: a waste of desert sand;
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
Wind 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?