The Humane

January 29, 2011
By StevenG SILVER, Wexford, Pennsylvania
StevenG SILVER, Wexford, Pennsylvania
9 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success..." - Bruce Feirstein

but who could foretell such a future, anyway?

The past pulls a thick black veil of complacency and denial
over our all-too-willing-to-forget minds,
until we are afraid to pull it aside and see the truth,
the truth and the lies spread about by countless generations past
and countless generations to come,
all convening in one crowd to pull that veil across,

all working against us, and us against the world.
us against the world.

Thus begins the perpetual battle of the life of the humane,
the war that we wage day in and day out, never calming nor respiting,
always flowing, always churning, always attack attack attack,
battle and warfare carried silently and solemnly on our backs
until we grow old and frail and we drop into a perfectly sizeable 6x2x6 hole.
We kill to live, and we live to kill.
We drop out of our mother’s womb and land on the beaches of this ceaseless Normandy,
crawling slowly up the sand and bloody water,
scaling the sheer cliffs under a hail of gunfire, and reach the top
only to find the barren land of our own design, devoid of everything but a headstone

carved with the name of yours truly and an antecedent hole yet to be filled.

And it is a progression unavoidable,
beginning with the singularity from which anything and everything sprang.
The golden ember shining in the endless blanket of zero,
the golden ember containing everything.
The pressures and terrors of the universe built itself up inside,
the pent up life and death
and living and loving
and dying and birth
and all that comes between slowly building the PSI inside
until life forced itself to break free.
The world and the universe spilled out into nothing,
over the cascading Niagara into void,
filling the infinity to its limits and pushing it outward, never again to be compressed.
The centuries flow out, time and space
and dimensions one through three,
raw energy churning like smoothly melted chocolate,
enjoying the freedom of utter entropy.
But alas, the entropy slowly starts to fade,
and law forces its way among lawlessness and begins to organize,

as law always does.

The energy condenses and dances itself into cosmos,
galaxies twirling and frolicking into the mystique
and puffing purple and blue nebulae from their Cuban cigars.
And inside the puffs of galactic smoke, the most enormously minute pinpricks flare to life,
singularities for universes all their own.
And each of these singularities does what singularities do best,
and from each springs forth a following,

circling like good little ducklings around their enormously tiny mother.
All these new worlds are yours.
Use them together.
Use them in peace.
What’s going to happen, Dave?
Something wonderful…

Enter the Parasite
a fungus sprouting from the fruit of knowledge
to eventually mold all of Eden.
With broken rules
Broken vows
And broken morals, it spreads
to encompass the good little duckling,
feeding of her sustenance
spawning of her body.
And like all worthy Lice do,
The Parasite jumps ship.
To the next good little duckling in line
And spreading.
starting the process over again,
to duckling
to duckling
until the entire flock
is infested
and dying.

Brown and desolate, broken and deranged, the family will die…
They’re not ugly ducklings waiting to become beautiful,
they’re beautiful swans fallen in their prime
felled by the unconquerable
the Parasitic
the humane
but who could foretell such a future anyway?

The author's comments:
But who could fortell such a future, anyway?

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