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Monday, March 15, 2010
Aliens and Angels Canned Combat, March 15-etc
UFOs are the new flaming, golden chariots, while the grays are replacements for God's little helpers (bearing a bizarre symbolic resemblance to Santa-Elves). Is space flight the new Tower of Babel? I sometimes think that industrial civilization uses space travel as a justification for its existence. "Nukes and global warming are okay. You'll retire on the moon." I see space colonization as symbolically related to heaven and apocalypse. Heaven turns out to be hell. And hell turns out to be Earth. And Earth was a cannibal-Eden, before we turned it into a giant farm.
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ReplyDeleteJust joking. I live in a green belt with a bunch of pottery nuts. We all chill.
ReplyDeleteOn your spin. Human endeavor has flicked a few crumbs into space. A meteor, now that's the way to travel. Tower of babble? Shared info? Sure, why not. But from my understanding, when the Wright Bros. nailed flight, there was a phenop of other piloteers trying to get airborne. I get that sense, but more as a gasp.
A more permeating senses is that the jig is up. And the self fullfilling prophecy of that is a tad bothersome, but don't think me a Cassandra.
Referencing heaven, and its counterpart Sheol (archaic Hebrew for hell), suggests you've dabbled in the testimony of others--namely middle eastern scribes. Given that, a page or two more and you'd be aware that heaven comes to earth in said same texts.
We are our future? Overcome entropy.
The cat enters the room. Licks paw, gazes insouciant, sprays and wanders off. Slack jawed humans, oh well.
ReplyDeleteArr! You'd better do better than that. I'm giving you guys a head start. I'll begin writing in an hour or so and you'd better have something good jackasses!
ReplyDeleteDUEL DUE MIDNIGHT PST!
I prefer a total brawl. Promote or write, your choice. I'll hit the keyboard around 10:15pm. You'd better be armed!
Adopt me. Let me take your holy wing
ReplyDeleteAnd tour me through your cosmos. Freeze my brain.
Absolve me my humanity—I'll sing
A ballad praising you in prayer and feign
Enlightened points of view. The mortal ape
Can't hope to truly feel the particles
That God expels. Through you, I can escape.
My succor waits. I chase your articles:
A pyramid, a glyph of stone to mark
The point (I pray) where next you'll land your craft.
I'll track the source, somehow, and take your spark
By force if need be. Aliens are daft
If they've arrived here—solo—seeking peace.
We want our godly status to increase.