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I wonder if they really could dedicate 98 people to every one. Iapos;m sure i know fewer.

what would be the level of fear at the realization of that one if you were one of the 98 others?

so many people were born back then with the intelligence to conquer the world, back when there was hardly anyone at all.

how much would they try, if even just once, they could keep another alexander the great off of the playing field of social order?

somewhere iapos;m not sure it makes me happy to know my test scores declined as i got older, careless about it, absent minded. A slow brain death just like the texts told me would happen.

if what is sacred is whatapos;s true my biology text is my bible to suit me perfectly. Rational guessing. Coacervate droplets make more sense than wishes to me. If god wished the universe into being thereapos;s no wonder we canapos;t see or find 99 of it. It probably doesnapos;t exist at all.

what if itapos;s just a big interference pattern? itapos;s like quickly tearing back a painting to find an instantaneous flash of television fuzz.

i donapos;t know about other people, but it feels quite like riding a wave. That moment when itapos;s just you and your body and the ocean. The moment when the wave catches you just so... And youapos;re off and away to be beached.

riding the cusp of a wave created in the fabric of spacetime as a chemical process. A discreet error ripped in the only place it could happen like this. A moon of that size, a sun of that magnitude, a distance of such and such aligned.. A burst of gamma radiation here, an ice comet there, a volcano over here, and lets put the tide pools everywhere.

back then it was like plastic slowly molding together as the water evaporated away. A cellophane of amino acids and peptide chains and hydrocarbons. Assembling a jigsaw puzzle by shaking the box for four and a half billion years.

somehow iapos;m still that slime mold. That congregation of goo into a jellyfish, or whatever the hell started all of this. Iapos;m that fish gasping for air on the banks of a tidal river. Breaking itapos;s fins over and over to try and survive until one came along that could hop. Anything from a gene resequencing of the fins to a mutation in the cartilage content of the spine... The haemoglobin level, the texture of the skin...

more closely i feel that iapos;m still that scared little ferret, living in the trees. Eating the red berries. Terrified and alone.

that baboon, that didnapos;t know to be scared when the leader screamed. Eating the smashed in skulls of small rodents, and gnawing on tubers. Conceiving the next genius method of extracting termites from a mound. Feeling as if thereapos;s something wrong in the back of its head. Always cautious, always frightened. Always curious. And sometimes more violent than anything nature should have conceived.

maybe tech support did a bangup job of making sure i was docile. Nearly every circumstance i think of requires diplomacy and pacifism and clever planning.

something about that rage, though. It hasnapos;t been bred out of everyone yet. I know i have some lizard blood still pumping through me. I donapos;t mind a bit.

but i canapos;t help but question how iapos;m still alive. Or for that matter for what purpose. But i am alive, and iapos;m starting to enjoy it. I think itapos;s because iapos;m finally starting to understand it. How brutally logical it is. How sadistically simple it boils down. Power, control, memories, imprints, commercial advertising.

it all feels the same, they all look the same. No matter what form it takes. As if somewhere thereapos;s a box of pure evil for them to stare into, to have their faces wither into ghoulish carbon copies of their former souled selves. I see it in the eyes of people that have witnessed true atrocities. I see it in the smiles of businessmen that speak them. It is a force of death.

i donapos;t deny it.

the same as you see a light around someone youapos;d never expect. Worshiping the three monkeys and silently carving a nook to sleep in the tree of life.

how rock paper scissors created the pretense for and the end cause of society as itapos;s known.

and everyoneapos;s so happy when they hear of world war three, how only the strong would survive, and it would be them. I see a more callous hand sweeping down. A massive backhand from the top down. The death of intelligence, the birth of true a.i...

diseases that donapos;t care if youapos;re weak or strong, merely that youapos;re present. Armies that donapos;t care if youapos;re smart or stupid, merely that you wear a certain color. The last of the oil fields being snapped up, the slow countdown. Everyone sticking their leg out to trip everyone else instead of just walking away.

i see entire nations mobilized to do the hokey pokey. Because we all like dancing around a bonfire. Because the ones that didnapos;t died in the cold, died without friends, died without a mate. And so in our now docile form we have attempted to mute those instincts, as strong as a catapos;s, into something more civilized. But that bonfire has sublimated to our collective unconscious mind. Itapos;s become the world, and every nation will have their respective enemy. Their respective resources to respectively use up.

we are 1000 baboons on a forested plateau. The fire in the center has burned since the beginning, and quickly it grows as everyone spends every waking ounce of energy on throwing more trees on the fire. Until it becomes a ring, expanding like a slow motion explosion. Expanding until it pushes every last one of us off the face of the plateau. Because itapos;s all weapos;ve ever known, to put more fuel onto the fire.

and weapos;re burning this whole world down. The most satisfying cigarette in the pack.

i donapos;t mind, i welcome it with open arms and a smile. I welcome it to come and shake the box some more, because we all know thereapos;s still a piece missing. I donapos;t care if iapos;m just another fantasy case. Because iapos;m alive, and i intend on staying that way.

for some reason.

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