By Harry the Human
Oh brillig was the slithy tove
All mum with crap that he had sold
So on he went, as we are told
A goal in mind, a windy road
A nematode, but I digress
Our subject still a wilderness,
Wherein such souls as look askance
At superficial happenstance,
Can waddle in the cosmic dance
And ask the question should the chance
Present itself, or even not-
For questions ask their own true selves
Forgiving answers to themselves-
And truth be told I need more rhymes
Not once not twice but three more times!
Tuesday, August 9, 2022
Friday, July 22, 2022
Sorry for my lengthy absence, but I'm really getting into estivation! Seriously, if you faced roasting in the great outdoors while staring at the apocalypse day after day, versus sensuous engagement with cool sand under a rock, which would you choose?
I'm sure I don't have to explain it to you. I don't want to hear about it anymore- the collapse of human civilization, our role as collapsees, the brightly packaged new humanoids buffed to a shine, waiting to replace us- I'm saying I don't want to hear about it anymore unless the story is delivered honestly, so that, say, David Muir of ABC would come on my dusty TV at 6:30pm and say, "My fellow humans, we have secretly longed for our downfall for so long that it has, regrettably, started to arrive. There's an old saying, 'Be careful what you wish for.' My fellow American humans, won't you help me reverse our wish? Altogether, say with me: 'I wish none of this were happening!'"
Anyway, that's my excuse for choosing shaded bliss, but last week, on the evening of July 21, 2022, I was jolted out of slumber by a blast in the early evening of telepathic energy shooting over the San Gabriels from all of L.A. County, down to San Diego and up to San Francisco and Portland and beyond.
I was in Joshua Tree National Park (130 miles southeast of my homebase, Pearblossom) at the time with my desert companion, Robert the Telepathic Gila Monster, who taught me how to estivate there, thinking it would be a productive venue because of the therapuetic effects of Joshua trees. Robert says they have strong "auras" (from Greek "breeze, breath"), the closest English word Robert can find for the gila term, Krrrech-ack sput sput sput.
Joshuas are highly conscious (they are aware, for instance, that they may be gone soon). It was the Joshuas who alerted us that night to the telepathic tsunami.
You probably made the connection that July 21st was when the prime-time January 6 Congressional hearing was, and the burst of mental energy from the population was the spreading realization that a political shift of dynamic proportions had taken place.
I'd like to share the following brief exchange I had with Robert about the hearings:
Me: "This unified, highly polished and possibly effective hearing has, for now, saved the two-party system. Democrats have reasserted their relevance, and they are now the rational seeming party even though, other than working to contain Trump, they are doing...well...not much."
Robert: "Harry, you child! Why does it take a gila monster to wake you up? The daily vicissitudes of human political systems do not matter to gilas except as local readouts of the planetary forecast, which as of this morning was: Critical disruptions across the Earth's surface starting Thursday afternoon and continuing over the next eon."
Sorry, I should have warned readers that Robert is, in human terms, an extreme cynic and pessimist, though he asserts that his mentality is standard for gilas and has served them well for 20 million years.
I don't have much more to say about my epiphany, such as it was. If I or Robert get any further earth shattering insights, we'll crawl out from under our rocks and make sure the news gets to you.
Until then, pleasant dreams!