Sympathy for Slaves

October 25, 2010
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Rocks do not talk. So representing them, I shall shorten my talk...

It is nothing so great. It is just like you and me. Are we great? We can not say we are great, not even when we are truly great. Why make it so hard when IT is so simple? It is the creation of its environment, defined by its environment.

Who is its environment, environmentalist? The “Who” answered it, tiny human beings. Give everything a name, Ape-shaped. Curving on the all mighty to leave memories of the past, historian? Diamond, sapphire, and ruby are prettier names called after polishing, dictionary-maker. Within the names lives tradition, then religion, God-worshipper. But we must respect all of them, as long as they try not to make our mother sick, planet-consumer.

Greetings, the newest-model living organism, we are the oldest-version nonliving mineral. You, ungrateful lot, depend on us almost always. From cave man time to present, from digging wells to mining fortune to building apartments, never once considered our (blank?) expression. Our relation never change, master (and slave, which is us).

Never talk as though you, stranger, knew me. Friends we have being for thousands of years. We barely just met each other. Yet you, berserk, have racked and XXX most of my brothers. You, businessman, valued us as though we were none other, placing us in museums or on the road. Sign…

You, my baby, have billions of years to go before reaching your father’s strength or mother’s wisdom, sleep more and save some energy.

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